


When the Past Encroaches on the Present

by stickdonkeys



Series: Past and Present [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complete modification of LOTR cannon, Complete shocking of hobbit sensibilities by dwarves being dwarves, Dwarves aren't immune to culture shock, Establishment of Dwarven Settlement in Shire, M/M, Meddling Valar, manipulative One Ring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 47
Words: 142,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickdonkeys/pseuds/stickdonkeys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Bilbo's 111th birthday draws near, he longs for the love he lost sixty years ago and is surprised when a knock at the door turns out to be someone entirely unexpected. Will Thorin's unexpected return rekindle old flames that never truly went out or will it open old wounds that have never truly closed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Very Unexpected Visitor

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Cuando el Pasado Invade el Presente](https://archiveofourown.org/works/718957) by [stickdonkeys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickdonkeys/pseuds/stickdonkeys)



> This was originally a fic request that blew up out of proportion! I hope that you enjoy it!

Bilbo sighed and placed his head in his hands as he sat at his table. He was so tired of this party business. It had seemed like a good idea when he had planned it with Gandalf, but now that he had to put it into practice . . . he wished that he would have just slipped off into the darkness without a send-off. Frodo would have understood and the rest of them . . . Bilbo couldn't care less what they thought about him. They had thought that he was strange ever since he had gone on an adventure sixty years ago. No. Their opinions didn't matter to him.

It seemed that very little mattered to him anymore. Not since . . . he couldn't even bring himself to think it. Even if he couldn't think it, that didn't mean that it hadn't affected him. It had. It had taken away his ability to love. He was fond of Frodo, that was true, but ever since that day his heart was not his own. It was buried in the Lonely Mountain with the man he loved. He could still remember the day he had left his heart there.

Bilbo had been standing in the tomb surrounded by Dwarves that kept casting sidelong looks at him. Normally he would have cared that so many people did not want him around, but he was so struck by his grief that their hostility went unnoticed by him. Thorin, Fíli and Kíli were lying in stone boxes and if Bilbo hadn't have know better he would have thought they were asleep. They looked almost peaceful in death.

He had clinched his fists as Dwalin and another large dwarf that he hadn't gotten the name of had covered Fíli and Kíli's tombs, but when they had move to do the same to Thorin's Bilbo hadn't been able to stop himself.

"Wait," he had croaked out tears streaming down his face. He had been surprised that he still had tears to shed after the last few days. Dwalin and the rest of the company had looked at him with something akin to pity, while the other dwarves had rolled their eyes at the interruption. Balin had placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It is time, Bilbo," he had said gently. "You have to let him rest in peace."

"But it will be dark there," Bilbo had said focusing on the more trivial objections to a burial.

"Aye, that it will," Balin agreed. "But it must be done." With that, he had nodded to his brother to finish the unpleasant task. Attempting to ignore the sobs of the hobbit that were now filling the air, Dwalin guided the lid over the tomb and placed it carefully home. There was some muttering in the hall about the unbecoming behavior the hobbit was exhibiting by mourning so publically but it was silenced with a glare from Dain and the remaining members of Throin's company. Bofur had led him away to a room and sat with him until Bilbo had fallen asleep.

The next day, he had taken his little chest of treasure from his fourteenth of the gold in the mountain and had left. Even though he had missed the others terribly, he had never gone back. There were too many sad memories there for him to visit. And they occasionally came to see him, most looking just as they had the first time he had seen them. Every time they did, some part of him hoped that the past would repeat itself and his home would be filled with thirteen dwarves who would raid his pantry and convince him to follow them on a fool's errand. But it never happened. And the one dwarf he wanted to see most in the world never came. Every time the bell rang, even though he knew it was impossible, he halfway hoped that it would be Thorin on the other side of the door . . . but, of course, it never was.

Almost as soon as the thought had crossed his mind, the bell rang. Bilbo sighed and wondered for a moment if he should simply pretend that he was not home. He was not in the mood for visitors, or for attending to party business for that matter. When there was another, more insistent ring at the bell followed shortly by a hard rapping at the door, Bilbo realized that whoever was there would not be discouraged easily and the continual sound of their insistence to be let in would irritate him more than the brief time it would take for him to figure out what they wanted and send them on their way.

With an exasperated sigh, Bilbo stood and walked to the door, mumbling to himself about foolish people that would not accept silence as an answer. Just as he reached the door, the knocking began again, louder than before even taking into account the fact that he was now closer.

"What do you want?" Bilbo snapped as he was pulling the door open. He knew that it was not the polite way to answer a door, but he had quit caring about that some time ago. He heard an amused laugh and looked up a bit to see the smiling face of Thorin Oakenshield.

"Still opening the door like a pop-gun, are you Bilbo?" The dwarf asked his tone light. Bilbo closed his eyes at the sound of his voice. It was a sound that he had never hoped to hear again and it filled him with warmth and brought tears to his eyes. He wanted to close the door. He knew that it was impossible. He was hallucinating from the stress of party planning and his wistful mind had summoned the image of Thorin to be his hallucination.

"May I come in?" Thorin asked, seeing the shock on the face of the other. "Or do you intend to keep me on your doorstep all day?" Bilbo stepped aside to allow the dwarf to pass, unsure if he could give voice to the invitation. He still expected Thorin to disappear at any moment. What he wasn't prepared for was the warmth of the other's body ghosting across the space between them or the way that the smell that was distinctly Thorin filled the air in the entry to his hobbit hole.

"It has been a while, my friend," Thorin said gently placing a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. At the feeling of Thorin's solid hand on his shoulder, Bilbo felt the world grow dark as the floor rose up suddenly to meet him.


	2. Hobbits, a Dwarf and an Old Wounds

Thorin smiled gently as he looked at the hobbit on the floor. Even though he looked nearly the same as he had before they had traveled together, Thorin hadn't expected the same response. He had thought that Bilbo was beyond fainting in the hall, but he didn't suppose that he could blame him. He had just knelt to lift the hobbit and move him to his bed to allow him to wake on his own when the sound of running footsteps reached his ears.

"You'll never guess what I just saw," he heard the excited voice of a young man call as the distinct sound of hobbit feet on the stone steps outside accompanied him. Thorin felt his heart constrict in his chest. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since Erebor had been reclaimed, but he supposed that it made sense that Bilbo had moved on and acquired a family.

"Uncle Bilbo!"Frodo cried at the sight of his uncle on the ground with a large dwarf leaning over him. He knew that Bilbo often entertained dwarves, but he had never found him like this before. And he had never seen this particular dwarf.

"Who are you? What happened here?" Frodo demanded. Like Bilbo, he knew that it was rude to demand answers like that, but he also couldn't care less. The dwarf was in his home and Bilbo was not able to make proper introductions.

Despite himself, Thorin smiled. The young hobbit had called Bilbo "Uncle" not "Father." He was his nephew. Composing himself he stood and faced the newest addition fully.

"Thorin Oakenshield," he replied with a shallow bow, "At your service." He was a little hurt when the hobbit showed no sign of recognition at his name. Had Bilbo never spoken of him? "As to what happened," he continued. "Your uncle was a bit surprised to see me and fainted. This is not the first time he has had this reaction. He will be fine shortly."

"Uncle Bilbo fainted?" Frodo asked incredulously. He had known his uncle his entire life and not once had he seen the older hobbit faint. Not even when Frodo had leapt out of the woods at him in an attempt to startle him. All that had happened that time was Frodo getting walloped with the walking stick Bilbo carried.

"Yes, Master . . ." Thorin gestured with his hand for the hobbit to supply his name. He disliked being at the disadvantage of not knowing with whom he was speaking.

"Frodo," the hobbit supplied. "Frodo Baggins."

"Master Frodo," Thorin said with a nod. "Yes, your uncle did faint. If you will aid me, I believe that we should move him to somewhere more comfortable than the floor to recover himself." Frodo nodded warily. Even though the dwarf had asked for help, all he had really meant was for Frodo to open Bilbo's door. Though the hobbit had grown more stout than he had been when they had first met, he had remained slighter than most hobbits and Thorin could easily lift him.

Once they had him tucked back into bed, Frodo turned anxiously to the dwarf. "Um," he said rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and fingering his suspenders with the other. "I'm not very good at this. Uncle usually takes care of entertaining guests. Would you like something to eat? Maybe some tea?"

"I would greatly appreciate food," Thorin said smiling gently down on the flustered hobbit. Even if he wasn't Bilbo's son, they were very similar. Or maybe being easily flustered was a hobbit trait and not singular to Bilbo.

"However, I would rather have something a bit stronger than tea, if that is all right," Thorin continued. "It has already been a difficult day and I do not foresee it becoming easier before it is through."

"We have ale," Frodo offered with a sigh before leading the dwarf to Bilbo's kitchen. Thorin followed him, surprised by how little Bilbo's home had changed over the years—much like the hobbit himself.

"So," Thorin said trying to find something to talk about rather than allow them to sit in the uncomfortable silence that surrounded them, "you are Bilbo's nephew? I was unaware that he had siblings."

"He doesn't," Frodo explained also glad for a topic. "I am actually his cousin. My father was his second cousin on his father's side and my mother was his first cousin on his mother's side. So I am his first and second cousin once removed either way."

Thorin closed his eyes trying to wrap his head around what he had just been told. Hobbit genealogies were  _nearly_  as confusing as dwarven ones and the terms they used were more confusing. "Then why do you call him "Uncle"?" Thorin asked, focusing on something that should be easier to answer.

With a smile and a shrug that was reminiscent of Bilbo when Thorin had asked him a question that he thought was unneeded, Frodo said, "Because he is so much older than I am. I can't just go around calling him "Cousin Bilbo", can I?" Thorin shook his head and looked at the tankard of ale in front of him with a sigh before he downed the whole thing in one go. This was going to be a very difficult day indeed.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Bilbo groaned as he stretched feeling slightly surprised at the soft mattress under him. The last thing he remembered, he had fainted in the front hall. He shook his head sadly as he admonished himself for being surprised. Of course he was in bed. It had to have been a dream. Thorin was dead and nothing was going to change that. He was not going to be walking up to the door of Bag End and demanding entry. That was absurd.

As was falling asleep in one's day clothes. Bilbo sighed as he saw what he was wearing in bed. He was old but he was not  _that_  old. He should have known better than to crawl into bed fully clothed! Well, there was nothing to be done for it now except to get up and resume the business of planning that blasted party.

He wondered at the soreness of his shoulder as he grasped the handle of his door and made a mental note to talk to someone about getting a new mattress in as that one was obviously inadequate before he remembered that soon it would not matter. He would be gone. He sighed again as he heard Frodo's voice in the kitchen. He sincerely hoped that he was talking either to himself or the Gamgee boy, he really was not feeling up to visitors today.

"Frodo, my lad," Bilbo called, feeling that it would be best to announce his presence than to walk in on what might be a private conversation. "You will never believe the dream I had. . ." Bilbo trailed off as he rounded the corner and saw the back of whomever was in the kitchen with Frodo.

"I must still be asleep," he mumbled as he looked at the same back that he had followed across Middle Earth. He would know it anywhere. But there was no way that Thorin could be sitting in his kitchen. He felt light headed once more.

"Now, Bilbo, no more of that," Thorin barked. The familiar tone grounded Bilbo and he managed to fight back the darkness, though he did have to sit down. "We will never get anywhere if you keep swooning at the sight of me."

"I do not swoon!" Bilbo snapped back his temper rising at the fact that his hallucination was making fun of him.

"It looked like a swoon to me," Thorin teased glad that Bilbo was showing a bit of the fire he had come to love about him. He had been worried that time had extinguished it. "I know that my presence is overwhelming, however—"

"It was  _not_  a swoon," Bilbo said rising to approach the dwarf stopping when he was within inches of the other. Even if he was a hallucination his words still angered the hobbit. "I swear, Thorin Oakenshield, you are the most conceited dwarf I have ever met in my life! And  _that_  is saying something. I don't care if you  _are_  a king, a little humility would do you some good!"

"He's a king?" Frodo asked dropping the roll he had been buttering. He was shocked. He knew that Bilbo knew many important people, but a king? And sitting at their little table in Bag End drinking ale and chatting with him? He paled even more as he realized what he had first said to the king. He had been so rude!

"My apologies, Your Majesty," Frodo said standing to bow to the dwarf at the table. "I apologize for my rudeness at our meeting."

"Oh," Bilbo shushed gesturing at his nephew impatiently. "I doubt you could have said anything too bad. Dwarven manners are different that hobbit manners."

"Much less difficult to remember," Thorin muttered, his eyes twinkling as he rehashed an old argument between him and the ex-burglar. "You just have to show deference to the right people. None of this foolishness about which fork to eat what dish with."

"Table manners are not foolish!" Bilbo retorted though Thorin ignored him and turned to Frodo instead.

"And do not worry, Frodo," he said with a sad smile. "I  _was_  a king. But no more. I am simply a dwarf now."

"Did you abdicate?" Frodo asked. He couldn't see how you could have been a king but be one no longer. Also he could not see the dwarf in front of him abdicating a throne.

"Something like that," Thorin replied his eyes taking a haunted look as he remembered his own death. "But it is no matter now. The throne had passed to the next in line and I am free to live out the remainder of my life as I will."

"What remainder of your life?" Bilbo demanded, tears in his eyes. "You didn't abdicate. You died. I saw them bury you! I mourned you! How . . . how are you here? I held you as you died. I saw your body. How? And if you were alive all this time why did you never come to see me? Sixty years, Thorin. It's been  _sixty_  years."

Bilbo paused before he continued, his voice now choked with emotion, "Does Dís know? What about the rest of them? Did everyone but  _me_ know that you are still alive? I suppose that would make sense. Why should we tell  _the hobbit_  that the great Thorin Oakenshield is still alive? He wouldn't care anyway."

"Now Bilbo," Thorin began his eyes begging the enraged hobbit to understand, "that is  _not_  what happened. I would  _never_  have done that to you. I know this is hard to believe—"

"No?!" Bilbo spat sarcastically. "It's perfectly easy to believe. Dead dwarves come back to life and sit in my kitchen every day! I had lunch with Fíli just yesterday."

"Enough!" Thorin roared at the reminder of his own nephew's death on his foolish quest. He may as well have killed the boy himself. At his anger, Bilbo sobered a bit, though he still glared at the dwarf he had ceased speaking. "Enough. If you will just  _listen_  I will try to explain what has happened. Do you think I like this situation? I died. And led others to their death in the process. I have  _not_  been in hiding. No one else knows that I live. How could I go to my sister after I led both her sons to their deaths? Of course Dís doesn't know."

He paused to shake his head and regain his composure before he continued. The thought of his sister and her loss through his actions almost brought him to tears. No matter what he and Bilbo had shared, dwarves did not mourn in public, not as he wished to anyway.

"Use your brain, Bilbo Baggins," Thorin said sadly. "If I was  _still_  alive without having died in the middle, I would be 255 years old. I would most likely be dead from old age. Do I look changed?"

Bilbo started at his words and looked more closely at the dwarf. He had not thought it odd initially that Thorin looked just as Bilbo remembered him, but when Thorin did the math for him, it made no sense. There was no more grey in his hair than there had been the last time he had seen him, no more lines on his face. He was the same.

"How?" Bilbo asked once more.

"The Valar have granted us another chance," Thorin said. "I think they were amused by the fact that a dwarf loved a hobbit and that a hobbit would mourn a dwarf for sixty years and wanted to see what would happen if we were placed together once more. I do not care for their reasons. They gave me the choice and I took it."

"The Valar gave you new life?" Bilbo asked skeptically. He had never heard of them doing anything like that before. The only thing that came close was their granting Elrond and Elros the ability to choose their own destinies. But he hadn't heard of them intervening in the lives of ordinary mortals and their last interference at all had been Ages ago. This was beyond the pale and he again decided that he must be dreaming.

"Not exactly," Thorin replied glad that Bilbo had stopped yelling for now. "They actually transported my consciousness through time and returned it to the body I had just before my death. I will be permitted to live out the lifespan that I should have had if I had not died."

"Frodo, be a good lad and fetch me an ale in the largest glass you can find," Bilbo said wearily, sitting next to Thorin and holding his head in his hands. "This makes no sense, you know?" Bilbo said glancing at Thorin out of the corner of his eye.

The dwarf sighed. "I know," he replied before he cast a wan smile at the hobbit. "But if we now have a chance to be happy should we question it?" Bilbo shook his head and rubbed at a worn spot on the table.

"And to think," he said with a small tentative smile, "just this morning I was worried about organizing a party."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read the newest chapter! I hope that you enjoyed it and would love to hear what you thought about it!


	3. Ale, Yet More Old Wounds and More (Un)expected Company

Frodo sighed as he walked into the pantry with two large glasses. He didn't usually like to drink ale, but he was so confused that he decided to make an exception. He had  _never_  seen his uncle speak to  _anyone_  like he had just spoken to the dwarf in their kitchen. He had seemed so hurt and angry with him. It made no sense, it's not like the dwarf could control the fact that he had died, right?

And the dwarf himself. Had he really been a king? It made no sense to Frodo—not that anything that had happened that day  _did—_ that  _royalty_  would allow someone to rage at him like that, even ex-royalty. It, more so than anything else he had heard, made Frodo think that there was more going on between them than Frodo knew. It hurt a bit to know that someone who was important enough to his uncle to make him  _faint_  and lose his temper like he had was someone whose name Frodo had never even heard. Who was Thorin Oakenshield and what was between him and Bilbo?

It was this question, rather than the one about exactly  _how_  someone manages to come back from the dead, that rolled around in the mind of young Frodo. Perhaps because it was the one that he could find an answer to with a little bit of snooping while the other was impossible for him to solve. There was only one thing that Frodo was sure of: there was more between them than simple friendship. How much more was yet to be seen. If they both survived, that is. He could hear raised voices from the kitchen once more.

With a sigh, he finished filling the glasses and returned to the middle of the feud that he had no business in as it did not concern him.

**ooOO88OOoo**

"He seems like a nice lad," Thorin said once Frodo had left the room.

"He is," Bilbo said smiling fondly. "And an intelligent one. Has a good head for languages and maps."

"When I first saw him, I thought . . . well, I  _assumed . . . "_

"That he was my son?" Bilbo supplied when it became apparent that Thorin would not say it. "No. I care deeply for the lad, but he is not mine. I never . . . "

"It would have made sense if you did," Thorin said placing his hand on the hobbit's a sad smile on his face. He hated the idea that Bilbo had spent his life alone because of him. "I was dead. You could have moved on. You  _should_  have moved on. I halfway expected that you had."

"No," Bilbo snapped withdrawing his hand and glaring at Thorin once more. "I could not! Do you have any idea how much you hurt me?"

"Bilbo," Thorin said gently. He hadn't expected Bilbo to be so angry with him about the past. He knew that he had made mistakes, but he hadn't figured the hobbit to be the kind to hold a grudge, not against the dead and not for sixty years. "I couldn't stop myself from dying. If I could have—"

"That's not what I am talking about!" Bilbo yelled pushing away from the table to begin pacing the room. "That did hurt. And it hurt for a long time. It still hurts even though you are back. But that was  _not_  what I was talking about." Bilbo snorted angrily before he turned to face the dwarf with tears in his eyes once more.

"You . . . you tried to  _kill_  me," he finally managed to say. "Do you realize how much that hurt me?"

Thorin clinched his hands at the reminder of what he had almost done to the hobbit in his rage at realizing Bilbo had taken the Arkenstone and given it to the elves. He had regretted it instantly, but hadn't been able to apologize at the time, not if he wanted to appear strong in front of his kin and his enemies.

"You forgave me for that," Thorin reminded the hobbit. He could still remember the hobbit sitting by his side as he died and trying to cheer him up as the end drew closer. He had never mentioned the affair with the Arkenstone in all that time and Thorin had assumed that he was forgiven.

"You were dying!" Bilbo reminded him in return, his voice high and shrill. "What was I supposed to do? Tell you that I didn't care if you were sorry? That it didn't matter if you didn't really mean to do it? Of  _course_ I told you it was forgotten."

"Would it help if I apologized?" Thorin asked looking at the hobbit sadly. He hated that his stupidity and greed had not only lost him Bilbo's company in the final days before the battle, but might have lost him his affection for ever.

"It wouldn't hurt," Bilbo snapped crossing his arms over his chest and looking away from the sorrow in Thorin's blue eyes. He was angry with him and did not want to see the hurt that his anger was causing. All the feelings of resentment that had built up over sixty years were boiling over in one fell swoop and Bilbo did not want to be stopped now by pity.

Thorin nodded and stood. He slowly walked towards the hobbit and placed his hands gently on his shoulders. "Bilbo Baggins," he said, emotion causing his voice to quiver as he looked at the face of the other. "I once told you that I had never been more wrong about anything in my life when I misjudged you. I was wrong about that. If there was one thing that I could take back . . . just one, it would be when I let my anger and the gold madness take me. I should  _never_  have done that to you. Even though I know that no amount of apologizing can make up for it, I will apologize to you for it every day until the day I die if it would help. I am so sorry. I can't even begin to tell you how much that action grieved me."

He pulled Bilbo against him and leaned down to place his nose in his curly hair. "I was a fool," he continued his voice little more than a whisper. "An arrogant fool. Can you ever forgive me?" At his last words a small sob escaped Bilbo and his arms wrapped around the dwarf and grasped at him as though he was the last precipice that could keep him from falling into despair. He had  _ached_  to hear those words for so long and to hear them now . . . he couldn't help by cry.

He wept as he had not wept since he had lost Thorin the first time. Only this time Thorin was there to hold him. His warm scent filled Bilbo's nose as he pressed his face into the chest of his long-lost lover. Oh, how he had missed that smell! Now that he was back, Bilbo did not intend to let old mistakes come between them.

"Of course I can forgive you," Bilbo sobbed pulling back enough to look at the relieved face of the king—because to Bilbo he would never be anything else. "But if you  _ever_  attempt anything like that again . . ." Bilbo let the threat trail off. He wasn't entirely sure what he could do to Thorin if it came down to it, but he would think of something.

"I would  _never_  dream of it," Thorin replied before he leaned down, gauging Bilbo's response as he did so, and prepared to kiss him. At the sound of crockery breaking on the floor the two jumped apart to find Frodo standing there with his mouth hanging open.

He was in shock. What had he just walked in on? He knew that there was something between them, but this!? Had they been about to kiss? Did that mean that his uncle and the king . . . well it did explain some things, but h . . . Hobbits didn't do  _that_  kind of thing.  _Especially_ not with dwarves.

"What is going on here?" Frodo managed to ask eventually. "Are the two of you . . . "

Bilbo sighed and gave Thorin a look that said "well, he's going to find out eventually." Bilbo chewed his lip as he tried to figure out how to explain things to Frodo. He knew that it was going to be a shock to the poor lad. Good gentlehobbits just didn't do these kinds of things but Bilbo had stopped being a gentlehobbit when he had left to go questing.

"I know that you must be confused," Bilbo said gently. Frodo snorted in response. Confused did not even  _begin_  to cover the depth of his feelings on the day so far. "But there is a perfectly good explanation for this."

"Is this why you adopted me?" Frodo demanded suddenly, despite his confusion, so many things now made sense. "Why you never married or had children of your own? You couldn't because you were still in love with him."

"Yes," Bilbo replied sadly. He hoped that knowing the truth would not change the way that Frodo felt about him. He had grown rather attached to the lad and hated the idea that Frodo would no longer want to be his heir.

"I-I suppose that I understand," Frodo said with a small smile. It made Bilbo's life make so much more sense. And he now knew why he had never heard of Thorin, though he had listened to Bilbo's tale hundreds of times. And why Bilbo had always seemed so sad and reclusive. He had always assumed that it was because Bilbo had outgrown the Shire but had wondered why he had never left if that was the case. But this . . . strange as it was, it made more sense.

"You do?" Bilbo asked. This was not at all what he had been expecting and he was suddenly glad that he had raised Frodo to be accepting of the cultures of others, including dwarves, rather than just the mores of hobbits.

"Yes," Frodo replied with a cheeky smile at Thorin. "He is rather well groomed for a dwarf." At his words, Thorin laughed. Even he had to admit that his kin were not always the cleanest bunch around.

Bilbo just smiled in relief. "Come," he said effectively changing the subject. "Let's get this mess cleaned up and sit for a meal. I'm feeling a bit peckish."

**ooOO88OOoo**

By the time the mess was cleared up and they had finished eating, darkness was beginning to fall. The three of them were sitting around Bilbo's table and talking of light matters, that did not have to do with Bilbo and Thorin's  _personal_  lives but did occasionally have to do with their old memories of each other, when there was a knock at the door.

Bilbo stood in confusion. He wasn't expecting guests to his knowledge and it was far too late for it to be party business. He glanced out the window to see the front door and felt shock flood his veins.

"Um, Thorin?" Bilbo asked suddenly as he looked out his window. "Do you intend to let the others know that you're alive?"

"I hadn't thought about it?" Thorin replied. "Why?"

"Because they're here. Well some of them are anyway," Bilbo explained nervously. "They're going to be staying here for a while for my birthday. In all the excitement I forgot that they were supposed to be arriving tonight. If you do not want them to know, you will need to hide."

"How long is a while?" Thorin asked warily. He disliked the idea of hiding from his kin, but he almost couldn't stand the thought of facing them after so long. If it was only going to be for a short time, he would do it until he decided what he wanted to do in the long run.

"A few weeks," Bilbo replied. "My birthday is not until the twenty-second." Thorin rolled his eyes at the old hobbit's tone. He hadn't forgotten when Bilbo's birthday was. In fact he still remembered the one they had celebrated together fondly. No, he knew when Bilbo's birthday was, he just didn't know what the current date was.

"I cannot hide in your home for a few weeks!" Thorin snapped as Bilbo's words sank in.

"Then, I suppose you should prepare yourself to see them," Bilbo replied as he walked to the door. "I have kept them on the stoop long enough." Thorin sighed. He had been right about the day being a difficult one. And no amount of ale in the world could make up for what was about to happen.

 


	4. More Dwarves and Ununanimous Decisions

Thorin closed his eyes as he heard the door open and the hall fill with the sounds of welcome and of cloaks and baggage being shed. He would rather face a horde of rampaging orcs once more than face his kin. This was a meeting that he had meant to postpone not to have the same night. Even so, he stood and faced the entry, his back straight and proud as he tried to fight down his feelings of guilt and unease.

"Started the party without us, eh?" Bofur asked, his voice unchanged by time. Thorin smiled at the familiarity of it.

"No," Bilbo replied, sounding decidedly flustered, "but before you go in there I must tell you something."

"It is not a mess," Bofur replied, his voice closer than before. "I promise you. Even a mess by your standards is clean by ours."

"Wait!" Bilbo cried, appearing in the doorway with his arms wide as he attempted to bodily stop the dwarf from padding.

"We'll mind the rug, lad," Balin said with a pat to his shoulder.

"No!" Bilbo said attempting to grab the dwarf as Bofur walked around him. "you don't understand!"

"Don't worry," Bofur said as he dodged the grasping hand of the hobbit and walked around him. He didn't understand why the hobbit was so insistent that they remain in the entry. "We'll be careful of the an—"he stopped speaking abruptly as he caught sight of Throin.

"What is it, lad," Dwalin asked as he, too, shouldered around the now defeated hobbit. "Is it a—"

"What's the matter with you two?" Balin asked walking around Bilbo. "Surely it can't be that bad, can it?"

Had the situation been different, Thorin would have laughed at the expressions—or lacks-there-of—on the faces of his old companions. As it was, all he did was offer them a sad smile.

"Hello, my friends," he said slowly, trying to break the shocked moment that had continued entirely too long. He almost regretted it.

The next few moments were filled with chaos and the shouting of ideas and accusations—including that Bilbo had been conspiring with the Necromancer—and that if this was his idea of a joke it was a tasteless one. Everyone was talking all at once and no one could hear what anyone was actually saying over the din.

"Enough!" Thorin finally yelled when Bilbo's quieter attempts to silence the irate dwarves had gone unheeded. "Yes, I am alive. No, Bilbo had nothing to do with it. And this is not a cruel joke."

"Impossible," Balin breathed. The dwarf in front of him looked just like Thorin. He sounded just like Thorin, but it couldn't be him. He was dead. This had to be a ghost, or some kind of illusion. Almost of their own accord, his feet began to move him forward until he could feel the heat emanating from the body of the apparition. He slowly reached out a trembling hand and was surprise when it encountered solid flesh. He had halfway expected it to pass through.

"Thorin," he whispered, tears beginning to prickle his eyes at seeing his old friend alive again. In his excitement, he forgot that the dwarf in front of him was a king. He forgot protocol and pulled the larger dwarf into a hug—which Thorin returned with a laugh.

"It is good to see you again as well, Balin," Thorin said with a laugh.

"But how?" Bofur asked. Thorin looked at the dark-haired dwarf and felt a stab of pain in his chest. On the quest, he, Fíli and Kíli had worked together to provide humor—even when Thorin hadn't wanted it—and seeing him alone only emphasized their loss.

"That is a long, complicated tale," Bilbo said edging around the flabbergasted dwarves to return to his dining room. "I, for one, would like something to eat before we get into it again." At his words, Thorin had to smile. He had no idea hobbits ate so often. No wonder they tended to be so wide. Even so, he gladly followed Bilbo and the others into the dining room. If nothing else, it would give him time to collect his thoughts before he had to explain how he was back once more.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The supper dishes were still on the table even though hours had passed since the meal. The remnants of the meals were still on the plates, but no one seemed to care. They were still trying to absorb what Thorin had told them and what the other consequences the meddling of the Valar would cause in their world. Namely in the kingship of Erebor. Dáin was a good king and they had prospered under his reign, but with Thorin alive Erebor was rightly his. Would Dáin step down easily or would this cause a civil war once word got out that Thorin was alive?

"Will you be returning with us?" Balin finally asked. "I know that it would make the people happy to see you again. Dáin has been a good king but we will gladly follow you once more."

"No," Thorin said suddenly. When he had accepted the offer, he hadn't realized the repercussions his actions would have on the world and his people. That's not to say that he would not have taken the chance, but he would have thought through things more before he revealed himself.

"I had my chance at being the King Under the Mountain and I led many of us to disaster. The title has passed to Dáin and I will not retake it," Thorin said. "Besides, my line will end with me while Dáin has a son to pass the throne to."

"There is still time to produce an heir," Balin argued. "You are not so old as to be impotent."

"No," Thorin agreed with a laugh. "However I have a mate and will take no other even if he will not have me after the great injustices I have done him. Even if he will, there will be no heirs from our union. Our only chance at an heir would be Dís. But even were her husband still alive I would not ask it of her. I have already taken two sons from her and could not ask her to replace them."

"But," Bofur protested weakly. He understood what Thorin was saying, but the idea that their King would allow himself to remain crownless after they had gone on a quest and fought a dragon and four other armies for the crown was too difficult to grasp.

"No," Thorin repeated. "Dáin and his son will keep the throne of Erebor.

"What do you mean to do then?" Dwalin asked. "Retake your seat at Ered Luin? We will follow you there if that is your decision."

"No," Thorin replied beginning to become exasperated that they did not understand that he had no desire to rule anymore. The company, in turn, was becoming frustrated at his half answers. All he would tell them was what he did not intend to do, not what he would.

"I intend to stay in the Shire. With Bilbo, if he will have me," Thorin said steadily looking at the hobbit across the table. He had meant to ask in private rather than put him on the spot like this, but they were going to keep pestering him until he gave them an answer and he had been pestered enough for one night.

"What?" Bilbo asked flabbergasted. "Thorin . . . I . . . we . . . we will need to discuss this later. In private." Bilbo had been in such a shocked state since Thorin's return that he hadn't thought through the kinks that it put in his plans to leave the Shire. There was no way that Thorin would consent to live in Rivendell and they couldn't go to the Lonely Mountain without causing quite a fuss. Was their only option really to stay?

Bilbo's words hurt Thorin, but he said nothing. He supposed he had earned Bilbo's wariness. He understood—after everything that had happened, everything  _he_  had done—why Bilbo would be reluctant for them to move in together. But just because he understood didn't mean that it didn't hurt.

"The Shire is nice," Balin agreed. "I suppose there is room here for a small dwarven settlement. At least hobbits have the sense to live below ground."

"What?" Bilbo gasped again. He loved his friends, but the rest of the shire would be up in arms if a contingent of dwarves moves into Hobbiton. They were anxious enough when the dwarves only came to visit. HE could only imagine their shock if they were to decide to  _live_  there.

"Yes!" Bofur agreed. "There is a market here for dwarven toys. I could make a good living here."

"I . . . um . . . um," Bilbo stuttered as he tried to find a way to explain to the dwarves that moving to the Shire was not a good idea without offending them. Especially since he still wanted to leave it himself and if Thorin's friends moved here that would become impossible

"Yes," Balin agreed. "There is definitely a market for dwarven skills here. We could rebuild that bridge properly and open a forge. Yes. We could live well here. I believe that we could persuade Ori, Nori, and Dori to come."

"Bombur would come," Bofur said. "He would love to spend time among people that love to eat as much as he does. He would like living here. "

"Óin and Glóin will not," Dwalin said. "They have lives in Erebor and will not gladly leave them. But I and my wife and children will gladly come. I have grown tired of the bustle of Erebor and I think my wife misses the quieter life we had in Ered Luin. She will appreciate the slower pace of life here."

"Wait!" Bilbo finally managed to say as he did the math and realized that they were talking about at least eleven dwarves—he wasn't entirely sure how many children Dwalin had—coming to live in the Shire. "I have not decided what Thorin and I are going to do yet. Can we hold off on bringing everyone here until I have?"

"Ah," Balin scoffed. "Laddie, we already know that you are going to let him move in. You just want to "think it over" and bluster about a bit before you do. We're simply bypassing the wait and moving on to the next step." Bilbo could think of no reply. He didn't want to deny that he would let Thorin move in, but he wasn't sure  _he_  was going to stay yet, let alone the rest of them. In the end, Bilbo said nothing. He merely sighed and looked longingly into the fire and once again wished for the morning when all he had to worry about was how to keep Lobella from stealing his silver if she decided to come to his party.

 


	5. Plans and Sleeping Arrangements

The dwarves sat around the table into the grey hours of dawn planning where they would place their new settlement and other little details like how they should build it, how it should be laid out and how many dwarves it would hold. While they were doing this, Frodo was listening with rapt attention. He couldn't believe that  _dwarves_ were going to be coming to live in the Shire. What he was having a harder time understanding was how his  _uncle_  had become the lover of their leader.

For some reason, the fact that Bilbo was in love with a dwarf was less difficult for him to understand than the fact that the dwarf—who was royalty and had the loyalty of the others—loved him back. Not that he didn't think his uncle was a wonderful hobbit, but he couldn't understand why a  _king_  would be interested in a hobbit that way. But it was clear that he was, and the other dwarves did not seem to find anything odd about the situation so this must have been going on during their quest as well.  _Then again_ , he thought glancing at his uncle, _the dwarves didn't seem to be particularly observant_.

Poor Bilbo was practically seething at this point. He had had more than enough pushy dwarves sitting in his kitchen making plans that involved him again without asking. He had let them get away with it sixty years ago, but not this time. They were not going to pull him into their crazy scheme again. And even thought he could see that they were excited by the prospect of starting a new civilization, it was a crazy scheme. There was no way that the hobbits would welcome the dwarves, and the dwarves would not be happy being ostracized and Bilbo knew that he would once again be stuck in the middle of the troubles caused by pigheaded dwarves trying to interact with other races.

Even if most of the dwarves in the room were oblivious to the deteriorating mood of Bilbo, Thorin was not. He could see it in the way the hobbit swallowed harder and more frequently and in the way his jaw clinched even though there was nothing for him to chew. His anger was even present in the way he was blowing smoke rings.

"I think we have discussed this enough for one night," Thorin said attempting to end the conversation diplomatically before anyone said something they would come to regret. "It is late, or should I say early. We should all rest and resume the planning after we have slept on it."

"Oh we know that you intend to sleep on  _something_ ," Dwalin said with a lewd grin that caused Bilbo to cough on his smoke and Frodo to blush to the roots of his hair. Frodo was astounded that the dwarf would say something like that. Hobbits did not talk about such matters, even though everyone knew that they happened or else there would be no hobbitlings, but it was not discussed. And for it to be said about his uncle . . . Frodo was sure that he would have nightmares that night, or maybe for the rest of his life.

"Perhaps," Thorin answered smoothly with an arrogant smile for Dwalin, "however what happens between Mr. Baggins and myself is none of your business. If you intend to live around hobbits you may want to learn a bit more about them," he finished with a gesture at the still red Frodo. "They tend to be very private folk."

"Oh!" Bofur joined in. "So he's Mr. Baggins now, is he? And how do you know so much about hobbits anyway?" In reply, Thorin only smiled once more before ignoring Bofur's questions and standing before offering Frodo a bow.

"I apologize for their lack of manners," Thorin said with a wry smile at his kin. "They were raised in caves." Frodo still couldn't seem to find his voice and merely nodded to show that he understood. While he and Thorin both listening to the protests of the rest of the dwarves and saying nothing. Even if they  _did_  occasionally say scandalous things, most of the time they were quite entertaining and Frodo found himself smiling at their insistence that they were not raised in mere caves any more than hobbits were raised in mere holes.

"If the idea of a hole bothers you so," Bilbo cut in ending the discussion, "you are welcome to sleep in the garden. And at this rate you may have to. If anyone else decides to drop in unexpectedly I will have no where to put you all."

"We can kip in front of the fire," Balin offered hearing the edge in Bilbo's voice and knowing that his brother may have gone too far. "We still have our traveling supplies in the entry. Won't be the worst place we have slept by far."

"No," Bilbo said with a smile remembering all the times they had slept in the rain when they could find no shelter. "At least it will be dry."

"And warm," Bofur added returning Bilbo's smile with one of his own. "And with no risk of goblins."

"No. No goblins in the Shire," Bilbo agreed. "If you are sure that will be acceptable, I will leave you to it and take myself to bed."

"Aye," Dwalin answered. "It'll do. At least we are only trying to find places for three rather than thirteen this time."

"Three?" Frodo asked speaking for the first time since the rest of the dwarves had arrived. "But there are . . . oh." He trailed off as he realized what the dwarf had meant. He hadn't thought about it but he supposed that it made sense that Thorin and his uncle would sleep in the same room.

Thorin and Bilbo shifted uncomfortably as well. They knew that it only made sense that they would want to get reacquainted after so long, but there was still much that they needed to discuss and neither was sure exactly where their relationship  _was_  at the moment. While it was true that they had almost kissed, there were still deep issues that needed to be sorted out before they were ready for that and they both knew it.

"I can sleep out here with the others," Thorin said quietly into Bilbo's ear. "If that is what you wish." Even though he wanted nothing more than to have the hobbit pressed up against him in sleep as they had so many times before, he knew that things had changed between them. The choices he had made, all the mistakes . . . they had changed things. He wasn't sure if things could ever go back to how they were before he betrayed Bilbo's trust. He realized that he may have been brought back not as a gift but as a punishment for his mistakes. He may be doomed to watch the one he loved from a distance but never to feel his touch again. He laughed bitterly to himself as he realized that even that would be better than he deserved for all the pain he had caused those he loved. Dís, Bilbo. Both of them had suffered directly because of him.

Bilbo thought about it carefully. He did not want Thorin to sleep anywhere but in his bed. He craved the feeling of the larger body in his bed. He had longed for it for sixty years, sometimes so intensely that he could almost  _feel_  him there even though he knew that it could not be true. He knew that they still had issues they needed to work out before they could pick up where they left off, but he could not see the harm in letting Thorin share his bed as they had before they consummated their feelings. But perhaps Thorin did not want to sleep with him. Perhaps the years had changed him too much from the Bilbo that Thorin had known for him to harbor the same feelings for him that he once had.

"If you think that is best," Bilbo replied, equally as quiet. "I would not force you to do so. You are welcome to come with me." Thorin nodded and decided that he would follow the hobbit. Even if it was only for that one night, it would be better than nothing. Without saying a word to the dwarves or Frodo, the two of them walked out of the room. They could feel the eyes of the others on their backs but did not acknowledge them.

Even though no one left in the room said anything, they were all thinking the same thing. The two of them would come out of that room the next day reunited, or one of them would not come out at all. Regardless of what they had said, sleep was not going to be had that night.

"You may want to sleep in here with us, lad," Balin said to Frodo. "Either way this goes, you won't be getting much sleep beside their room tonight." Frodo flushed again at the implications, but in the end took the dwarf's advice and brought his blankets into the dining room and slept on the floor with the dwarves.

**ooOO88OOoo**

"I can't believe them!" Bilbo hissed as he closed the door to his room behind them.

"I am sorry," Thorin said even though he had done nothing wrong. He knew that he was still on thin ice with the hobbit and figured that he should be a courteous as possible. "They should have known better than to say something like that in front of your nephew. I will have a talk with them in the morning."

"What?" Bilbo asked sharply looking up at Thorin. "Oh! That. I wasn't talking about that."

"Then what?" Thorin asked. He couldn't think of what else they had said that could have infuriated the hobbit so.

"I can't believe that they plan to move to the Shire," Bilbo said. "And without so much as a "by your leave." Do they realize how many problems this will cause? And how many of them  _I_ will be forced to fix. The rest of the hobbits will say nothing to you folk, but to me . . . Oh! I will be hearing of it forever."

"I do not think it is such a bad idea," Thorin offered quietly. He knew that it was probably not the smartest thing that he had ever done, but he did feel that Bilbo was being a bit unreasonable and felt that he should offer a bit of sense. "There truly is a market for our skills here. We are capable of things with iron and stone that you cannot even imagine."

"That's not the point, Thorin," Bilbo said exasperatedly. "Do you  _really_ want to go back to being a blacksmith? I can't even remember how many times you complained to me of the time you had spent working at forges during your exile. Would you willingly go back to that?"

"Yes," Thorin replied moving towards the hobbit and placing his hands on Bilbo's shoulders. "I would. Especially since it will allow me to stay with you. The circumstances have changed. Where before I was a king that had been forcibly driven from my kingdom and forced to work as a blacksmith, now it is my choice to do so. I believe that will make a difference. And while it  _is_  true that I could retake a position of power among the dwarves, you would not be content in a dwarf court." He laughed quietly before he continued. "I remember how hard it was to get you out of Bag End and keep you out in the first place. I do not think that I would dare to try it a second time."

"That's just the thing," Bilbo said with a sigh deciding to focus on the second part rather than voice his disbelief that Thorin would ever be content as a blacksmith regardless of the circumstances. "Even Frodo doesn't know yet, only Gandalf and myself knew, but I had intended to leave the Shire on my birthday. Frodo comes of age and I was going to give Bag End to him and move to Rivendell."

"Rivendell?" Thorin snorted in disgust. "Why would you move  _there_  of all places? I am sure that if you desired to leave the Shire you would be welcomed in Erebor. Honored even! You would not have had to move in with the elves."

"I wanted to," Bilbo said slowly, fighting back a smile. Some things never changed, and apparently Thorin's distaste for elves would be one of these things. "I would still like to. But I know that that is most likely impossible now. That is why I do not want them to move here. If they did, I would be more tied down than I now am. I need a vacation from the Shire, at least for a while, and if they try to establish a settlement I will never be able to leave even for a vacation. It just adds more complication to things that have already been complicated by your return. I don't know what we're going to do now."

"Is there a "we" to worry about?" Thorin asked sadly. "I know that there once was, but I do not know where we stand now."

"Neither do I," Bilbo replied honestly. "I still love you but I don't know that I can trust you anymore. I have changed over the years, Thorin. I know I don't look it, but I am old now. I feel it. I don't want to deal with the heartbreak you could cause me. But I also don't want to give up the chance to reclaim what we once had out of fear. I just need time to figure it all out."

"I understand," Thorin replied, cursing himself once again for his own stupidity. He wished again that he had never even  _heard_ of the Arkenstone. "What do you want me to do? Would you like me to leave while you think?" Bilbo's heart clinched at the idea of Thorin leaving. He may not be able to trust him completely yet but he did need him and want him. He couldn't stand the thought of him leaving again, not so soon after he had returned.

"No," Bilbo said almost desperately, grabbing the dwarf's hand for the first time since they had almost kissed in his kitchen. "That is not what I want. I want you to stay with me while I decide. However, I do not want them to begin planning for a future that may never happen. Not until we're sure of what  _we're_  going to do. Do you think that you can get them to delay laying the foundations of their town until after my birthday? I will have made my decision by then."

"I can do that much for you," Thorin replied glad that he could do something to help his hobbit. "I will fix it in the morning. I don't know about you, but I am exhausted. Today has been . . ." he trailed off as he could not find a word that adequately described the day that had just passed. Rather than say anything, Bilbo yawned in response and began changing into his night clothes.

Even though he had seen Bilbo naked before, Thorin averted his eyes as the hobbit stripped. Somehow he felt that he owed Bilbo that much privacy, little as it was, until they decided where they were and where they were going to be going with their relationship. Rather than watching the hobbit change, Thorin occupied himself with removing the outer layers of his clothing in preparation for sleep.

Thorin slid beneath the sheet, facing the wall on the far side of the bed in an attempt to keep Bilbo from feeling trapped. He would have preferred to take the hobbit in his arms, but he was worried that Bilbo would not appreciate the gesture while he was still sorting things out in his own mind and didn't want to give Bilbo the wrong impression about his intent to wait for the hobbit to come to him.

Bilbo laid himself on the opposite edge of the bed with his back to the dwarf feeling more awkward than he had in a very long time. Even though he could feel the warmth of the other flowing between them in the space created by their shared blankets he didn't dare to close the space between them and press himself against the dwarf. Not until he knew what he wanted. Until then, it would be best to keep some kind of distance between them—or so he told himself.

Despite their feelings of uncertainty and apprehension, once they were asleep they unconsciously reached for one another seeking the companionship they both craved. Sometime in the night, Thorin and Bilbo both rolled over and found themselves against the other. It was like this—Bilbo snuggled into Thorin's side—that they awoke the next morning. Their discomfort from the night before returned in an instant and left them unable to look at one another as they dressed and prepared for the day.


	6. Cuddles, Reconciliation and a Bet

Once they were dressed, Thorin and Bilbo walked left Bilbo's bedroom hoping that the awkwardness of the night before would remain there. It did not. It followed them, permeating the air around them and seemed to seep into their very pores and fill them with anxiety. They both knew that they could not continue ignoring the tension between them, but neither wanted to be the one to bring up the past and start the inevitable argument, so they both said nothing as they began to prepare to cook breakfast.

Even with the tension that was palpable between Thorin and himself, Bilbo had to smile at the sight of his nephew sleeping in the kitchen surrounded by dwarves. Poor Frodo would have quite a start when he woke and realized that Bofur was using his leg as pillow and that Balin had stolen most of his blanket while Dwalin had apparently decided that Frodo looked enough like his wife to merit a cuddle. The dwarves wouldn't care, but Frodo, who had always slept alone, was sure to be nearly as shocked as Bilbo had been the first time he had awoken in the pile of dwarves if not more so. It might do the lad good, if the shock of that on top of the shocks of the day before didn't kill him.

"They seem to like him," Thorin whispered quietly in Bilbo's ear as he watched the hobbit stare at his nephew. Bilbo only smiled. He wished that they had taken to him near as quick as they seemed to have taken to Frodo. It would have made the first part of the quest easier. Thorin sighed when Bilbo said nothing. He had hoped that they could have a civil conversation and that the nephew Bilbo was so fond of might have provided the topic, but it seemed it was not to be.

Thorin did not try to start a conversation again, and neither did Bilbo. The two of them finished the preparations for a  _large_  breakfast and began to cook it.

"I'll need to go to the market today," Bilbo said suddenly. "Feeding two hobbits and four dwarves . . . my poor pantry is not big enough for this." Thorin laughed quietly. It was one of the largest pantries he had ever seen in a single-family home and Bilbo thought it would not be large enough. His laugh quieted as he remembered how much hobbits and dwarves were capable of eating. They did need to shop soon.

"I can come with you," Thorin offered. "It will let us buy more supplies so we do not have to go again soon. I'd also like to see if there are any spirits stronger than ale to be had in this town."

"Don't waste your time, lad," Balin mumbled. The sound of voices and the smells of food had roused him from sleep. "Hobbits don't know how to drink. That is something else we will have to remedy when we move here. We will have to set up a dwarven distillery if we want anything stronger than water."

"Our ale is not water," Bilbo said glaring at the semi-conscious dwarf. "It is sufficiently stout for a good evening without causing a bad morning." He could still remember the time that Balin had given him dwarven ale that he had promised was not strong . . . and the horrific headache he had had the next morning. He knew that dwarves had thick skulls, but if that was what it took to penetrate them he had no desire to see what they considered "strong."

"May as well be," Balin muttered opening an eye to glance at the hobbit that was standing over him. He didn't bother to suppress his smile as Bilbo looked up at Thorin beseechingly. Thorin sighed as he saw the look. He knew that the hobbit was not asking for help in the argument, but rather for Thorin to end it. He had wanted to wait until after breakfast, but now was as good a time as any.

"About the settlement," Thorin said with a sigh, "I believe it would be best if you held off on planning anything concrete until after the party. Bilbo has promised me that he will have his decision by then. Now," he said holding up a hand to stall the protest he could see forming in Balin's eyes, "I am not telling you to stop planning, I am simply saying that you are not to break ground or to send for belongings or family until we are sure this is a good idea."

"Of course it's a good idea!" Balin said a little more loudly than necessary at the suggestion that he had come up with a bad plan. It especially stung when he considered that he had never once questioned Thorin's plan to reclaim Erebor aloud—even if he had doubted they would survive the experience. This was much less fraught with peril. Bilbo aside, he didn't think hobbits in general were dangerous. Even  _if_  they didn't want them there, odds were that all that would come of it would be a few glares and mutterings.

Even had he decided to say any of this to the pair—which he never would have—he never got the chance. At the louder sound of his voice, Frodo awoke and—in his surprise at being a pillow and at having Dwalin's arm around his middle—gave a loud squeak so reminiscent of the first time Bilbo had woken up in Thorin's arms that the two shared a soft smile before they tried to referee the brewing fight before it destroyed Bilbo's home.

"—Do  _not_  recall giving you permission to do that!" Frodo was saying to the shocked Dwalin with his eyes wide. "Nor did you ask first. I was not aware that though protecting my ears I would be violated in other ways."

"We  _did not_  violate you, lad. It was a mere cuddle. Nothing more," Dwalin said as he tried to cover his smile. Perhaps Bilbo really was a normal hobbit. They had had a similar conversation many years before. He had always assumed that Bilbo only claimed to be normal but now . . .

"Are all of you hobbits so fussy and prudish?" Dwalin asked cutting off Frodo's insistence that it was still a violation, mere cuddle or not. Frodo gaped at him like a fish, while Bilbo—who was much more accustomed to dwarves—smiled as he saw a means of potentially convincing the dwarves that they did not want to stay in Hobbiton.

"Actually, he is much less fussy and prudish than most," Bilbo replied. "After living with me for so long he is a little more accepting that the vast majority of hobbits. Are you sure that you still want to live here?" Thorin shot him a look as he realized what Bilbo was up to. However he said nothing, choosing instead to sit back and see how Bilbo liked the answer to such a question. He knew that it would be entertaining.

"They cannot possibly be worse than you were when we first met you," Bofur said nudging Frodo affectionately while he looked at Bilbo. "Do you know what your uncle did when he first met us?"

"Before or after he fainted?" Dwalin asked smiling at the memory and marveling at the change in the hobbit that the quest had wrought. He had quickly gone from fussy and nearly useless to proving his worth time and time again. Bilbo Baggins had been an excellent fourteenth member even if he never became much of a fighter.

"He fainted?" Frodo asked with wide eyes, his wounded sensibilities forgotten at hearing aspects of the story he had never heard before. Bilbo had always glossed over the arrival of the dwarves, preferring to pick up once they were at the trolls rather than at the beginning and always stopping before the end. He was so excited by the prospect of hearing the rest of the story that he failed to notice that his uncle was seething once more.

"Oh yes!" Balin replied with a laugh. "Just keeled right over with the loudest shriek I had ever heard in my life. No one even threatened him. We had only just presented him with a contract, nothing more."

"Yes," Bilbo cut in angrily. "To my credit, the contract  _did_  list all the ways that I could die that were not covered by more than funeral expenses and they did consist of incineration if memory serves."

"We all signed that contract," Bofur said gesturing at Bilbo dismissively. "And none of us fainted, did we Thorin?" Thorin sighed before he answered. He did not want to get involved in this. He could see no answer that he could give that would not anger someone or be a lie.

"No," he finally said when it was apparent that he could not abstain, "however, to be fair, you  _did_  all know of the risks before you were presented with the contract." The dwarves rolled their eyes at his answer.

"You would say that," Dwalin muttered glaring at the ex-king. Thorin only shrugged in response but did not reply. He had learned that there were times it was best to remain silent.

"The fainting aside," Bofur said to move the story along once more, "do you know what he was worried about once we actually got him out of the house." Frodo shook his head and looked around eagerly while Bilbo glared warningly at Bofur and Thorin gave him the minutest of headshakes to tell him not to say it.

"I remember!" Balin said with another laugh. "His handkerchief! He had run out the door without it and was upset that he would have to go on a quest without it."

"He didn't have anything else either," Dwalin chimed in mirth dancing in his eyes. "No cloak, no change of clothes, no provisions. It was a good thing that we were well outfitted before the mountain pass or he never would have made it even as far as Rivendell. I had never met such a fussy creature in all my life."

At his words, Bilbo's eyes filled with rage and he spun towards the front door, pausing only to grab his pipe off the table before he stormed out the front door slamming it behind him. Silence followed his exit. It was eventually broken by a sigh from Thorin.

"Breakfast is on the table," he said shortly before placing two portions on plates and following Bilbo out the door.

"Lads," Balin said sadly once both of them were gone. "I think we may have gone too far this time." No one said anything but the shame in the room was tangible. They hadn't meant to upset Bilbo. Even so, they had and they had no idea what they could do to make it right.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Outside Bilbo was sitting in his garden, where this whole mess had started sixty years ago and smoking his pipe angrily. He knew that they had meant no harm, and generally their words would not have upset him so, but he was on edge from everything that had happened. The question of what to do about his and Thorin's relationship and his own confused emotions on the subject needed an outlet and the dwarves, and their teasing, had provided one. He knew that he would feel remorse for his burst of temper later, but now he just wanted to let his anger flow.

"Confounded dwarves!" he muttered to himself. "Coming in and taking over my life and my home again! A curse on them all. Useless things!"

"Do you truly feel that way?" Thorin asked quietly from behind him. Bilbo jumped at his words and turned to see the dwarf standing a little ways away holding two plates and looking hurt. "Are we useless?" He knew that Bilbo had not meant his words, but they stung all the same. He had thought the same things about himself so many times and to hear them from the hobbit—with all the raw emotions between them—was too much.

"No," Bilbo replied deflating as he thought about what he had said. "Dwarves aren't useless. You aren't useless. I'm just frustrated. I'm sorry." Thorin smiled but said nothing in answer to his apology and felt his shoulder droop slightly when Bilbo turned back to look at the flowers. He had hoped that Bilbo would invite him over, but he didn't want to encroach on the angry hobbit's space.

"I brought breakfast," Thorin said softly. "You ran out without it."

"Thank you," Bilbo replied blowing out smoke before glancing at Thorin once more.

"So I'll just leave it here, shall I" Thorin asked leaning forward to set the plate beside Bilbo and preparing to return to the house.

"You can stay," Bilbo said looking up at him with sad eyes. "If you want." Thorin smiled widely at the words. Even if it wasn't the declaration of love that he had been hoping for, it was something. He sat down next to Bilbo on the bench and closed his eyes as he filled his nostrils with the familiar smell of pipe smoke. It was a smell that he associated with Bilbo and many fond memories of nights they had spent talking together.

"Thank you," Thorin said honestly and handed the plate to Bilbo who nodded. They sat in silence eating their breakfast and looking at Bilbo's flowers. It was almost a companionable silence and neither of them wanted to be the one to break it.

"You know," Bilbo eventually said turning his head to look at Thorin once more, "I think we are making it more complicated than this needs to be."

"What do you mean?" Thorin asked. He knew what he hoped the hobbit was meaning, but he didn't dare to voice it until he was sure. He didn't even allow himself to hope because he didn't think he could bear the disappointment if he was wrong.

Bilbo sighed before he continued. "I mean us. It's complicated, I know that. And we have things that we will need to discuss, but I don't see why we can't try to make this work. I can't stand this tension between us anymore. I know that it may not work out, but we have to try . . . that is, if you want to. I mean, I know that I am not the same as I was, but the one thing that has not changed is the fact that I love you."

"Of course I want to try," Thorin replied, his voice harsh with emotion. "I crossed time to be with you. I would not change my mind now . . . no matter how dire the consequences may prove to both our pieces of mind." He grimaced at the last thought as he remembered what awaited them back in the house. "What does this mean for the others? Should we let them start their settlement or delay them longer?"

"Let's have them wait a while longer," Bilbo said with a sad smile. "That was if this doesn't work out . . . well . . . it will be . . ."

"Less trouble to end," Thorin supplied in a quiet voice. The hobbit nodded unable to give voice to the fate that he knew was a possibility. It was with a soft, nervous smile that Bilbo reached over slowly and laced his fingers through Thorin's. The dwarf gave the smaller hand a gentle squeeze before returning the smile and leaning in slowly, his eyes warning Bilbo what he had planned and begging for permission for what he had planned.

Even though Bilbo had made the first move, Thorin stopped with a hair's breadth between their lips and waited for Bilbo to close the distance. After little more than a heartbeat, the hobbit did so enthusiastically. Into that kiss he poured all his desire, longing and love that had built up over the last sixty years along with his frustration, anger and grief. Thorin took them all and gave back his love and understanding that things would take time to return to how they were, if they ever could.

Once they came up for air, Thorin brought his hand up to stroke the side of Bilbo's face and looked into his eyes. "I promise you," he said his voice little more than a whisper. "If it is within my power, things  _will_  turn out differently this time. And I  _swear_ to you I  _will not_  repeat my mistakes." Knowing that no reply he could make would be adequate, Bilbo gently stroked the side of Thorin's face, a smile crossing his own face as the dwarf leaned into the touch.

From the window, three faces continued to watch on as a poor, traumatized hobbit was currently laying on the floor—having fainted.

"I knew they wouldn't make it through the day," Bofur said with a smile. "Pay up lads."

"I said—" Dwalin began only to be cut off by Balin who was already passing coins to Bofur having placed his bet for last night.

"You said that they wouldn't make it through dinner," Balin said nudging his brother. " _He_  said that they wouldn't make it to lunch. Now pay up." With a grumble Dwalin dug into his pockets to find the gold he now owed to Bofur.

"So lads," Balin began with a sly smile, "Care to take bets on when this gets  _physical_  again?" Frodo was beginning to come around just as the dwarves began to discuss in graphic detail what they thought might take place between Thorin and Bilbo and when each step would take place. Some of the things they were describing were so horrific—to Frodo—that he gave another squeak and fainted once more.

"Excitable things, aren't they?" Dwalin asked looking at the hobbit on the floor.

"Yep," Bofur agreed. "Anyone want to see how many times we can make him do that before their birthday?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read the newest chapter! I would LOVE to know what you thought of it!


	7. Traumatizing Hobbits

Bilbo groaned and fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. This was a disaster. An absolute disaster. He would almost have preferred to be facing down Smaug again rather than endure the looks that the inhabitants of Hobbiton were currently giving him. He might say that he didn't care what they thought about him . . . but despite his, decidedly, unhobbit-like tendencies he was still a Baggins and this . . . it was too much.

When he and Thorin had come in from the garden the others had been too quiet. He should have known then that they were planning evil. He had been suspicious when they had offered to do his dishes once more and was thankful when Frodo declared that he would do them instead. It wasn't that he didn't want the dwarves to help, but he remembered what their idea of "doing the dishes" had consisted of and Frodo was looking decidedly ruffled and he wasn't sure that the lad could handle the sight of flying crockery—even if the dwarves didn't break anything.

And then Frodo had suggested that perhaps the dwarves would like to help Bilbo with the grocery shopping. Bilbo's suspicion had increased with this suggestion and the dwarves' enthusiastic agreement to it. He wasn't sure what they had planned, or what his nephew had to do with it, but he knew that in all the times that the dwarves had come to visit him they had never even once come to the market with him. He should have forbidden them from coming. He knew, even then, that no good would come of it, but Frodo had looked so happy at the prospect of a little peace and quiet that Bilbo couldn't make them stay. He remembered just how overwhelming they could be en masse if you weren't used to them and even though Frodo had been here when they had visited before, he had generally been asleep or out of the house for most of their visit and there had never been so many before.

"Fine," Bilbo had said with a shrug. "You can come. Just  _try_  not to make nuisances of yourselves." Little had he known that with those words his fate had been sealed. After the dwarves had taken bets on who could cause Frodo to faint the most and how many times it would be they had decided to  _broaden_  their horizons, so to speak. They knew that Bilbo and Thorin intended to go to the market and devised a plan to get themselves included in this little trip. Their goal was simple: shock as many hobbits as possible during the trip and see if what Bilbo had said about hobbits being fussy and prudish was true.

They had left Bag End and had started right away making lewd jokes that had even caused Bilbo—who had traveled across Middle Earth with them and was  _quiet_  used to how dwarves behave—to flush slightly at the tips of his ears in embarrassment. Once they came to more habited parts, they toned it down a bit, trying to see how little it would actually take to scandalize "normal" hobbits. They were disappointed when all it took to get the first scandalized squeak from a hobbit was Dwalin saying that he missed his wife and couldn't wait until he could get home to her and "receive a proper greeting" and that Bilbo and Thorin were lucky that they did not have to wait if they chose not to.

"That's one nice thing about not having a wife," Bofur had replied slapping Dwalin on the shoulder. "I can receive a  _proper greeting_  wherever I go." Dwalin laughed while Balin murmured in agreement seemingly ignorant of the stares that were being cast their way. The hobbits within earshot—with the exception of Bilbo who was pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes squeezed shut—covered their mouths and looked at the dwarves and Bilbo with wide eyes.

"Well I never," one woman muttered scandalized as she covered the ears of the hobbit boy with her and ushered him away from the dwarves—who he was looking at with awe. He had never seen a dwarf before. What the dwarves didn't seem to realize was that they didn't need to resort to bawdy humor to shock the hobbits: their mere presence was enough. Even though they were only lightly armored and armed, most hobbits had never seen anything like them before.

Even though all the residents of Hobbiton had heard Bilbo's story and knew that rumor had it that he still entertained the dwarves that he had quested with, no one really  _believed_ it. It was like the rumor that Bag End was filled with tunnels that were full of gold. It was interesting and made for good gossip, but no one  _truly_  thought that was the case. There were even residents that said that Bilbo had never gone on an adventure but had moved to Bree for a year and that all the money he had was his inheritance from the Old Took. And to see Bilbo in the company of not one but  _four_ dwarves . . . they had been shocked even before the dwarves had opened their mouths.

And opened their mouths they had! After Dwalin's statement and Bofur's reply things had only gone downhill from there. They three of them were now discussing the relative merits of marriage and bachelorhood. And despite the rather . . . carnal nature of their discussion and the embarrassment it caused the hobbits, they found themselves oddly entranced by the discussion. Some of the things that the dwarves were describing the hobbits hadn't even known were possible. They had drawn quite a crowd at this point which only seemed to spur the dwarves to further heights – or deeper depths of depravity as the case may be—to try to get at least one member of their impromptu audience to faint.

"Please," Bilbo begged grabbing Thorin's arm and looking at him with desperate eyes. "Do something to stop them. Please!" Thorin sighed. He wasn't sure that even  _he_  could stop them now that they had truly gotten going. But he would try.

"That's enough," he snapped just as Bofur started to go into detail about one of his conquests—a male conquest at that. "You are among civilized folk now. That kind of talk might entertain around a fire or in a pub—and perhaps not even there in the Shire. As Bilbo told you last night—though you should have known before, having traumatized him so many times on the quest—hobbits  _do not_  discuss these things in polite company. But whether or not they would discuss such things after a few pints at the pub _, this_  is a market. There are women and children. How would you feel if someone was discussing this in front of your daughter, Dwalin? There are children here younger than her. This is  _not_  the place for this discussion. If your only reason for coming here was to scandalize the hobbits, then return to Bag End. If you intend to help us then be silent and do so."

The dwarves at least had the grace to look ashamed at their action. They hadn't thought about the fact that there were children. Their aim had only been to have a little fun and they had figured that even though hobbits were prudish they might at least find it entertaining. As they looked around at the disturbed faces that surrounded them—varying in color from tomato red to ghostly pale—they realized that they had made a mistake.

"We're sorry," Balin said refusing to meet Thorin's eyes. The king raised an eyebrow and gestured at the crowd.

"It was not me that you offended," Throin said regally. "It is not me to whom you owe an apology, but rather to them. And if you  _do_  mean to go through with your plan I would suggest that you give it to them. Their goodwill will do much to aid you in it." Turning to face the crowd the dwarves offered them a deep bow.

"We apologize for our words," Dwalin said quietly. He had never thought that he would live to see the day that he apologized to a crowd of hobbits.

"We forgot where we were and who we were among," Bofur added feeling thoroughly shamed by Thorin's words. He hadn't meant to say things that aught not be said in front of children with children present. Even though he didn't have them, he had close relatives that did.

"We ask your pardon," Balin finished. At their apology the hobbits were more shocked than they had been by their words, if it was possible, and mumbled a few acceptances before the crowd dispersed and went about their business though there was still mutterings about crude dwarves and the mad Baggins that had brought them to the market.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The rest of the trip to the market went relatively smoothly. There was one tense moment where Bilbo and Dwalin got into an argument over the hobbit's choice of cheese. The dwarf had tried to put the cheese Bilbo had chosen back because "it was moldy" and Bilbo had resolutely returned it to the basket he carried and paid the hobbit selling it.

"Civilized my arse," he grumbled under his breath thinking that Bilbo would not be able to hear. "We would never dream of eating cheese that had gone moldy."

"That is where you draw the line?" Bilbo asked incredulously turning to face the dwarf and ending up nose to chest with him. If Bilbo hadn't have been so angry, Thorin would have laughed at the image they presented, Bilbo—whose leg was not as big around as Dwalin's arm—bowing up to the dwarf and attempting to intimidate him. As it was, Thorin knew that he needed to calm Bilbo before he started a fight that he couldn't win.

"Loudly discussing sexual acts in the market is civilized behavior but Aulë forbid we try to eat blue cheese!" Bilbo yelled glaring up at the warrior. "I swear! Dwarves are the most infuriating creatures in the entirety of Middle Earth!"

"I doubt that's what you said last night," Dwalin replied with snide smile. Bilbo opened and closed his mouth a few times, his face colorless at the shock of Dwalin saying such a thing where anyone at all could hear . . . it wasn't that he was ashamed of his relationship, but what Dwalin had said was not true. Once his shock faded it was replaced by anger. His hands balled into fists of their own accord and even though he knew that he stood no chance against Dwalin in a fight, he was prepared to take a swing at him. Even the dwarves that had not been intimate with Bilbo knew that Dwalin had gone too far this time and were prepared to step in a stop bloodshed but Thorin beat them to it.

"Let's just take a step back a breathe," Thorin said in a soothing voice as he stepped between them. He had seen that expression on Bilbo's face before and knew that no good could come of it. He knew that the hobbit was just angry enough to do something rash and stupid. And Dwalin might be smiling in amusement now, but he knew that if Bilbo managed to draw blood there would be a fight that no one could stop. No. He had to stop them before it came to blows.

"I don't want to breathe," Bilbo replied murder flashing in his eyes. "I want to finish this  _discussion_  on civilized behavior, and perhaps demonstrate what passes for uncivilized behavior here."

"Then you will have to go through me," Thorin said simply in voice that was much calmer than he felt. He hated stepping between Bilbo and something he wanted to do, but he could not stand by and watch the man he loved pick a fight he couldn't win. If Dwalin hurt him . . . Thorin didn't want to think about how things would go from there but he knew that the resulting brawl would traumatize the peaceful hobbits more than the lewd discussions of the others ever could.

"Move," Bilbo snarled, his voice hard and so unlike him that it made Thorin's heart clench. When had Bilbo become so angry? He knew that the hobbit was stressed, but there seemed to be more to it than that. There was fury there that Thorin had never seen before, even when Bilbo had gone to battle. Where had it come from?

"No," Thorin replied trying to keep his confusion out of his voice knowing that when he got in one of these moods that any sign of weakness only prolonged it. "I am doing you a favor, Bilbo Baggins. You and Dwalin can finish this discussion later, once you are both calmer."

"I'm perfectly ca—" Dwalin began only to cut himself off at the icy glare that Thorin gave him over his shoulder.

"Bilbo," Thorin said in a gentle tone placing his hands on the hobbit's shoulders and leaning down to look him in the eyes, "It's fine. It really is.  _We_  know what happened last night and that is all that matters. Let them speculate and allude. We know the truth."

"They shouldn't speak on things that are not their business," Bilbo snapped glaring at Dwalin around Thorin's shoulder.

"No," Thorin agreed. "But they will. People always talk. You told me that once. Remember?" He watched as Bilbo's face softened at the memory and allowed it to surface for him as well.

_It had been right after the two of them had gotten together in Beorn's home. The company had been discussing the relationship between the two of them and speculating about which of them was being taken by the other. Their talk had angered Thorin—who felt that it was none of their business who was doing the taking or if there had even been any taking—and he had been preparing to put an end to it when Bilbo had placed a gentle hand on his arm and smiled up at him shyly._

" _Let them talk," he had said. "If you try to stop them it will only make them want to talk about it more. Besides, I don't mind. I kind of like the fact that they don't actually know but are curious enough to try and guess even if they are being a bit nosey." Thorin had sighed and sat down next to his lover once more._

" _I can't believe they have decided that you are the one doing the taking," Thorin grumbled his pride wounded that his company thought that he would submit like that. "As if that could be the case."_

" _You never know," Bilbo said with a coy smile as he stroked one of Thorin's braids. "We should give it a try some time. You might like it." Thorin had laughed at the idea at the time. He was a king. He did the taking, not the other way around. Even though he knew that it was something that would never happen he had said nothing of the sort to Bilbo at the time._

At the reminder of his own words Bilbo seemed to deflate. He didn't offer Dwalin an apology, but the strange light that had been in his eyes faded and once more it was nothing more than a tired old hobbit with sad eyes that stood before Thorin. A single tear escaped his eye at the reminder of a time when things had been so much simpler and they had been so happy together. Thorin gently wiped it away with his thumb and felt a sad smile cross his face as Bilbo leaned into the touch. They both knew that they could never go back to that time, but perhaps they could reclaim something of it.

At the sound of a throat being cleared, the two of them jumped apart—only just realizing how close they had actually been to  _demonstrating_  some of the behavior that the others had been discussing. They glanced around them and realized that they had drawn a crowd once more and that this time they were not staring at the dwarves, but at Bilbo. The hobbit blushed under the scrutiny of his neighbors and made a show of straightening his clothing—though nothing was out of place—before he cleared his own throat.

"Um . . . I think that is enough shopping for now, don't you?" Bilbo asked looking at the dwarves hopefully. He hoped that they would agree and return to Bag End. If there was anything they had forgotten they could always send Frodo back. He hadn't made a public spectacle of himself twice in one day.

"We just need one more thing," Balin said looking at Bilbo with what was almost pity. He knew that the poor hobbit was having a hard time reconciling the two separate lives he had led into one. He had never tried to do it, but he had lived among men for a time and had known dwarves that had. Very rarely could the two pieces be fit together neatly. For the first time he wondered if it was a good idea for them to move to the Shire after all. As Thorin had reminded them frequently, dwarves and hobbits had very different mores and traditions. What if they could not find a way to make them mesh? He pushed the thought aside. Little that was worth doing was easy. This would be no different.

"Please tell me that it is close," Bilbo replied pinching the bridge of his nose once more.

"It's on the way back to the house," Balin replied turning and beginning the process of making his way through the amassed hobbits. It wasn't a difficult task since they seemed reluctant to be in his way and moved to allow the dwarves and Bilbo to pass.

"This has been the most stressful week of my life," Bilbo sighed to himself. "I don't see how it can get any worse."

"More stressful that when you crept into the den of Smaug the Terrible or hid in the palace of the Elf King?" Bofur asked genuinely curious. He hadn't realized that they ranked above those two events in stress causing ability and was both proud and ashamed that the same time.

"They do not even  _begin_ to compare," Bilbo replied exasperatedly.

"I know of something that can help you to relieve stress, Master Baggins," Dwalin offered with a wry smile at the hobbit. Rather than reply Bilbo began rubbing soothing circles in his own temples to combat the headache he could feel coming on. "Helps with headaches too," Dwalin added.

"Let them talk," Bilbo heard Thorin whisper and looked up helplessly at the dwarf who offered Bilbo a smile before threading their fingers together and continuing the walk home. Bilbo smiled at the realization of a desire that he had had for ages that he and Thorin could walk hand-in-hand through the Shire. He was so pleased, in fact, that he did not hear the birth of a rumor about the relationship between Mad Baggins and a strangely polite dwarf begin to spread through the market.


	8. Irrational Anger and Regret

Frodo sighed as he watched his uncle and the dwarves walk out of the room. He knew that it was wrong but he couldn't help but feel relieved that they were going to go and bother someone else for a while. He had the strangest suspicion that they were doing things for the sole purpose of offending him and seeing what reaction he would give. He knew that thought was preposterous. The dwarves wouldn't do something like that. They were just dwarves being dwarves, there was no malicious intent to their actions. It was just the way they were. Even so, he was glad that he was going to have a dwarf-free afternoon.

He started the dishes at a leisurely pace, wondering why his uncle had seemed so reluctant to let the dwarves wash them. Surely the dwarves, warriors though they were, were capable of washing dishes. He had seen the beautiful things that they made and the intricate details they worked into metal. Any hands that could manage that could easily handle washing dishes without breaking them. As he thought more about it, he realized that he had never seen a visiting dwarf do the dishes and that if they had ever offered his uncle had blustered about before either washing them himself or having Frodo do it. He wondered what had happened that made his uncle so reluctant to let the dwarves wash dishes. Knowing that it may be a story he didn't want to hear, but unable to curb his natural curiosity, Frodo decided that he would ask them about it that evening since he knew his uncle would never tell him.

He had only just finished the dishes and done a little light cleaning before settling down to read in the window seat overlooking the garden when he heard the door to Bag End bang open and heard Bilbo's voice. He closed his book with a sigh. He had thought that it would take longer for them to return, but now that they had, he knew that there would not be any peace and quiet to be had for a while. Especially since, from the sound of it, his uncle was in a right rage at the moment.

"—never been so embarrassed in my entire life!" Bilbo was saying. "I can't  _believe_  you did that!"

"It wasn't that bad," Bofur argued. "We just—"

"Not that bad!?" Bilbo shrieked. "Not that bad? Then what would you consider bad, Bofur? The  _entire_  Shire was in that market! How could you—"

"Now, Bilbo," Balin interrupted his voice soothing as he tried to make the hobbit see reason. "It wasn't the entire Shire. Maybe half."

"Half is still enough!" Bilbo snapped turning to face Balin. "The rest of the Shire will know what happened before nightfall!"

"It won't be  _us_  they will be talking about," Dwalin said with a smirk looking between Thorin and Bilbo. They may not have heard the whispers that followed them, but Dwalin had. He knew that the lewd conversations of the dwarves paled in comparison to the intrigue of Bilbo and Thorin's interactions and the speculations they had given rise to.

"And just what is  _that_  supposed to mean?" Bilbo demanded glaring up at Dwalin once more. Thorin sighed and edged his way around the irate hobbit on his way to the pantry to put up the groceries he was carrying. He figured that they could talk about it without his supervision for a few minutes at any rate. They could probably avoid coming to blows for that long.

"What happened at the market?" Frodo asked Thorin in an undertone as the dwarf passed him. The dwarf only shook his head and sighed deeply before he gestured for the hobbit to follow him. Frodo realized that it wasn't a "no" but rather a "not here" and set his book down before he followed the ex-king into the pantry and helped him to put away the groceries.

"So," Frodo repeated, "what happened?"

"It turns out that they only wanted to come with us to scandalize the locals," Thorin said amusement and irritation warring for dominance in his expression. Even if he didn't approve of their goal to traumatize the hobbits, he was glad to see that some things never change no matter how much time passed. They had tried to scandalize Bilbo all the way to Erebor and it made him smile to hear their familiar interactions, though it hurt him as well. Fíli and Kíli had been the chief instigators in harassing Bilbo, and the behavior of the others only served to highlight their absence for Thorin.

"And?" Frodo prompted knowing what the outcome of that venture had been both from what he knew of hobbits and dwarves and from the rant Bilbo was currently having in the entry.

"They succeeded," Thorin replied with a shrug, his tone dry. He tried to push his sorrow back. No amount of regret would bring them back and he knew that his nephews would not want him to linger on their deaths and forget to live the second chance he had been blessed with. Frodo nodded. He had suspected as much.

"And Bilbo brought you all straight home to yell at them," Frodo said with a soft smile. He had been brought straight home before . . . though he had been smaller and he doubted that it would end the same way for the dwarves as it had for him.

"No," Thorin replied. "We finished shopping." Frodo looked up at the dwarf in confusion. Bilbo had let them stay in the market after what they had done? Even though he wasn't entirely sure what they had done, it had clearly been bad for Bilbo to be yelling at them now. In all the times they had visited Bilbo had  _never_  yelled at them, no matter what they got up to. It made no sense that he would have let them stay in the market if they did something vile enough to invoke the old hobbit's wrath.

"They apologized to the hobbits and we went about our business," Thorin explained seeing the confusion on Frodo's face.

"But you came back so quickly," Frodo said his voice still showing confusion. "Going to market usually takes twice as long, even though Uncle rarely lingers. What else happened?" Thorin never got a chance to tell Frodo what else had happened at the market for in that moment there was what was unmistakably a battle cry from the direction of the living room followed by the sound of a scuffle. Before Frodo could ask what had happened, Thorin had disappeared back down the hall. Confusion on his face once more, Frodo followed after the dwarf at a more leisurely pace.

Thorin grabbed the post of the door in the kitchen to help him make the corner wishing for the first time since he was back that he had a sword. The Valar had neglected to give him a weapon when they resurrected him. It hadn't bothered him until now. He had recognized the cry as Bilbo's voice and wondered what could have come through the door that would cause the hobbit to make such a noise. Was it orcs? Goblins? And army of angry hobbits? He could still hear a struggle going on so he knew that the conflict was not yet resolved. He steeled himself for the worst and was prepared to fight hand-to-hand if that was what it took.

However, nothing could have prepared him for the sight that awaited him. Dwalin was against the wall of the entry with his hand over his nose and his eyes wide with shock while Balin and Bofur were both attempting to restrain the hobbit from attacking him again, with little luck. Thorin's sharp eyes took in the situation and realized that he had been mistaken . . . they had needed supervision.

"What happened here?" Thorin demanded his tone harsh as he tried to shock them into stillness. He failed. Bilbo still continued to struggle against the two dwarves that were not currently bleeding against the wall.

"Nothing!" Bofur called grunting as Bilbo elbowed him in the gut in his attempt to get free. "I swear it!"

"Something must have happened," Thorin replied attempting to keep his tone aloof even though he was confused once more. This behavior was nothing like the Bilbo he remembered and he wondered what else had happened in the sixty years he had been gone.

"Nothing enough to merit this!" Balin snapped trying to ignore Bilbo's fingers digging into his arm. He hadn't realized the hobbit was this strong. It should have been no problem for the two of them to restrain him and he was almost too much for them, his rage lending him strength.

"IT WAS ENOUGH TO MERIT MUCH MORE THAN THIS!" Bilbo yelled his voice shrill and his eyes wild as he redoubled his efforts to get free of the restraining hands.

"IT WAS NOT!" Dwalin roared as he recovered himself and stood before moving towards the fuming hobbit. He was leaning over Bilbo and glaring down at him. "I SAID  **NOTHING** TO MERIT YOU HITTING ME!" Bilbo didn't cower or show any sign that the larger dwarf intimidated him in the least. He just continued to stare into Dwalin's eyes with his jaw set and his own eyes hard.

"YOU VERY WELL DID!" Bilbo yelled trying desperately to climb over Balin who had courageously thrown himself between the two yelling males.

"ENOUGH!" Thorin roared cutting off Dwalin's reply. "I've had enough of this! The two of you need to calm down and  _someone_  needs to tell me what happened." When no one spoke Thorin sighed.

"Dwalin, what did you say?" Thorin asked trying to distract the angered warrior before he decided that it was worth it to go through his brother to get his revenge. The dwarf in question glared at him and gestured wildly at Bilbo as he swore rather impressively in Khuzdul and refused to say any more.

"Bilbo," Thorin tried hoping that one of them would tell him what had happened, "what did he say that offended you?"

"That . . . that," seeming to find no word in the common tongue to describe Dwalin at the moment used a word in a language that Thorin had never heard but must have been a vulgarity because it caused Frodo to squeak and say "Uncle Bilbo, must you use such language!" which Bilbo ignored and continued speaking.

"I would leave off insulting him if I were you, Bilbo," Balin offered as he heard Dwalin growl behind him. Even without Frodo's words the tone had obviously been one of insult and Dwalin had taken it as such even if he hadn't know  _exactly_  what it was that Bilbo had called him.

"Yes," Thorin agreed. "That is enough profanity from the both of you. Tell me what happened, without the expletives, if you do not mind."

"He made some rather lewd suggestions as to what should transpire between you and me this evening," Bilbo spat continuing to glare at Dwalin. Apparently he had decided that if he couldn't swear he would be annoyingly polite.

"All I said was that perhaps Bilbo's temper would benefit from a good roll in the hay," Dwalin said looking accusingly at Thorin as though it was  _his_  fault that the hobbit was in a foul mood and had taken it out on Dwalin rather than on Thorin.

"Which was uncalled for!" Bilbo snapped. "Hobbits DO NOT discuss these things even among friends!"

"I'M NOT A HOBBIT!" Dwalin yelled shoving Balin out of the way and bending down so that he could get in Bilbo's face. "MOST OF THE PEOPLE IN THIS HOUSE ARE  **NOT**  HOBBITS! WE'RE DWARVES! AND DWARVES  **DO**  DISCUSS THESE THINGS! EVEN IF YOU DO NOT!"

"WELL I'M NOT A DWARF!" Bilbo yelled in reply. "Forgive me for forgetting that you lot have no manners."

"No manners!?" Dwalin demanded grabbing the hobbit by the shoulders and giving him a firm shake. "I'm not the one that assaulted a friend and guest in the middle of my home for a joke! No, it is you who have no manners."

"Me!" Bilbo demanded knocking Dwalin's hands away from him and puffing up once more. "I have manners! I'm not the one who—"

"ENOUGH!" Thorin called again stepping between them once again knowing that the brawl that he had feared in the market was about to happen here if he couldn't get them to stop soon. "Dwalin, go help the others to put up the remaining groceries. Bilbo . . ." he paused a moment before he decided that keeping the hobbit in one piece was worth the risk of angering him. "You come with me," he finished firmly.

"NOW!" he roared when it seemed like neither of them was going to do as he had said. Dwalin brushed past him with a glower still on his face.

"You'd better talk some sense into him," he muttered to Thorin in Khuzdul as he passed. Thorin nodded, grateful that the other dwarf was willing to give him the chance to do so. He would have hated to come to blows with his old friend over something as small as a crude joke but he would have done so had it have been necessary to protect Bilbo from the consequences of his own rash behavior.

"What did he say!?" Bilbo demanded pulling against the restraining hand Thorin had placed on his shoulder.

"Never you mind," Thorin replied before placing a second hand on the hobbit and trying to steer him out of the room. "Now, come with me."

"I will not take a single step until you tell me what he said, Thorin Oakenshield," Bilbo replied glaring up at the dwarf king with his hands on his hips.

"Fine," Thorin replied rising to the challenge before he bent and lifted the angry hobbit, tossing Bilbo over his shoulder like a sack of grain before walking out the front door with Bilbo yelling at him to put him down. He walked for some time until he found a secluded spot in the woods were they could talk. Only once they were there did he set Bilbo on his feet.

"That was a most undignified way for you to get me here," Bilbo snorted straightening his clothes and looking up at the dwarf angrily through his hair.

"I had to do something," Thorin replied trying to keep his tone light when all he wanted to do was grab Bilbo and demand that he tell him what was going on that made him so angry so easily. "Dwalin would have broken you in half had the two of you continued."

"He could have tried," Bilbo replied darkly. The strange light that Thorin had noticed earlier was back and Bilbo had an almost feral look on his face.

"He would have succeeded," Thorin deadpanned. "He's twice your size."

"Perhaps," Bilbo replied with a dark smile that Thorin did not like in the least.

"What is wrong with you?" Thorin finally asked. He knew that it was probably not wise, with how tentative things were between Bilbo and himself, but he felt that it had to be said.

"What do you mean?" Bilbo snapped. "He was the one who—"

"That is  _not_  what I am talking about," Thorin snapped cutting off the hobbit knowing that he was going to bring up what Dwalin had said. "I don't care about your fights with Dwalin. Not really. What I care about is  _you_. This is not like you. Since when do you start fist fights over anything, let alone a crude comment? What happened to the hobbit that wanted to talk his way out of a battle and negotiate rather than fight?"

"And look how that turned out!" Bilbo snapped stepping towards Thorin with wild eyes. "I tried to negotiate with our "enemies" and in the process made my lover into a more dangerous enemy than they were! Of course I changed tactics after that failure."

"Is that what this is about?" Thorin asked with a bitter laugh. The damned Arkenstone again. "You're still mad about that? Did my apology truly mean nothing to you?"

"No, Thorin," Bilbo snapped. "That is  _not_  what this is about. This is about the  _sixty years_  that I spent alone and all the plans that I made in that time that I am expected to drop just because you ask it of me. And this is about the fact that decisions are being made about me without my consent once again! And about the fact that your kin are rude and have no regard for my customs." He paused, panting slightly from his anger and glared into the hurt face of his ex-lover.

"Are you done?" Thorin asked, his voice hard and his eyes abnormally bright. Bilbo nodded tersely and Thorin took a deep breath to compose himself before he spoke. He would be _damned_  if he allowed Bilbo Baggins to see him weep over rejection.

"If I had known the hardships my return would cause you I would never have undertaken this venture," Thorin said feeling as though there were a boulder in his throat trying to block the passage of the words but he forced them out anyway. "I had assumed that you would be glad to see me. I'm sorry that I was mistaken. If you wish it, me and my rude kin will be gone before dusk tonight and will never trouble you again. Say the word and it will be done. We will leave and never darken your doorway again. Is that what you wish?"

At his words, so softly spoken that they might have been imagined but so full of hurt that Bilbo knew that he could not have imagined them, Bilbo felt the unnatural anger that had filled his veins fade leaving him feeling weak. He sank to his knees with his head in his hands.

"What have I done?" he sobbed. "I don't know what come over me? How could I have struck him? It really wasn't that bad, what he said. I don't understand it. I just felt so  _angry_." At the broken sobs coming from the kneeling hobbit Thorin reached out a hand to touch him before withdrawing it and balling it into a fist at his side. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on either, and wasn't sure Bilbo wanted to be touched or if he wanted to touch him.

"And you," Bilbo continued looking up at Thorin with eyes that were filled with tears rather than anger or that fey light. "I'm so sorry that I made you think I was not pleased to see you. I have missed you so much. What are a few ruined plans in the face of your return? I don't know why I was so preoccupied with the fact that things have changed that I forgot to be happy for  _why_ they had to. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Of course I can," Thorin said kneeling down next to the hobbit and drawing him into an embrace. "If you can forgive me for trying to kill you I think it is only fair that I forgive you for hurting my feelings. Just promise me one thing."

"Name it," Bilbo breathed glad that he had been forgiven for his unnecessary outburst. He would do anything Thorin asked of him if it meant that he would not leave. He wasn't sure why he was so desperate to keep the dwarf by his side when he had survived without him for so long, but he knew that he needed him there.

"No matter how angry you get with him  _please_  do not punch Dwalin in the face again," Thorin said smiling gently down at the hobbit in his arms. "I would hate for the Valar to have gone to all this trouble to reunite us only to lose you to your own foolishness. Or for me to have to avenge some hurt caused to you by one of my oldest friends." Thorin felt Bilbo shudder slightly as he realized  _exactly_  what might have happened as a result of his actions. He had seen Dwalin in battle and knew that he had made what could very well have been a fatal error that day.

"I promise," Bilbo replied. He only hoped that it was a promise that he could keep. He couldn't actually remember deciding to punch the dwarf, only that he had done it. He only hoped that the next time one of those rages hit—and he knew that there would be a next time—he would have more control over his actions. Somehow, he doubted that would be the case.


	9. Agreement, Apology and Memories

Once the groceries were put up, Balin knew that the time had come to say what needed to be said. His brother was still seething, and what he was about to say would do nothing to calm his temper. Even so, he knew that if they wanted to stay in Bag End, or even in the Shire, to help Bilbo celebrate his birthday properly a good will gesture was needed.

"Lads," Balin said with a sigh. "We need to tone it down."

"What?" Bofur asked. "Why? We're just having a bit of fun. He's the one that's overreacting. We haven't done anything more than we usually do. Not really."

"Exactly," Balin said looking at the two of them worry and confusion on his face. "We've behaved just like we always have and he's not responding the same way. Something's wrong. Bilbo has  _never_  gotten angry with us before, not really, and today alone we have already managed to accomplish it not once but  _three_  times."

"Then he needs to quit being so sensitive," Dwalin snarled not feeling particularly generous to the hobbit that had just punched him in the nose. "He knows this is how we behave and he invited us to come anyway. He should not be surprised or upset by our words."

"No," Balin agreed, "but he is. And I can almost understand it." He held up his hands as his brother made to speak and continued in a slightly louder tone. "Think about it, Dwalin. I'm _not_  saying that he's right, mind you, but the poor lad  _is_  under a lot of stress at the moment. We all are. Thorin coming back . . . well, it shocked us . . . imagine what the poor hobbit must feel at the moment. We are compensating for our shock by teasing them, but Bilbo and Thorin may not have come to terms with his return and what it means for them quite yet. There is a lot of lost time and bad blood between them."

"So we should change our ways because he's overly sensitive about the subject?" Dwalin demanded. He couldn't believe that his brother would suggest that they coddle the hobbit. They had never done it before and he had no intention of doing it now.

"That is not what I am saying at all, Brother," Balin said placing a soothing hand on Dwalin's arm. "I'm saying that we leave off with teasing him about their relationship until they have it figured out. If you remember that is why he got angry with you. It wasn't really the cheese; it was when you brought up his sexual relationship with Thorin."

"So I should just forget what he did?" Dwalin demanded loudly glaring down at his brother for even suggesting it. Had Bilbo been another dwarf they would have settled such a dispute with weapons, not words. Assaulting a guest was tantamount to declaring war—even if they  _did_  behave poorly you threw them out, you didn't start a brawl.

"Yes," Balin replied. "If he offers you an apology, take it. Explain the severity of what he did if you wish, but accept it. If for no other reason, do it because of your long friendship with him." Dwalin looked away and mumbled under his breath before he nodded curtly.

"Does this mean that we have to give up our contest involving Frodo?" Bofur asked looking like a scolded puppy. He felt horrible that he hadn't been the one to realize that something was wrong with Bilbo more than just being flustered. He should have seen that it was more than embarrassment and frustration. He should have said something to stop Dwalin before things escalated. Or he should have stopped Bilbo before he could actually land the blow.

"Heavens no!" Balin replied oblivious to the guilt that Bofur was feeling. "We just need to leave Bilbo and Thorin in peace for a bit. The lad is still fair game. But perhaps we should be on our best behavior for a couple of days until this dies down." Bofur's eyes lit with mischief at his words. Letting things die down was a good plan. . . and would serve to make it all the more unexpected when they did start back up with young Frodo.

"What do you say we start supper?" Dwalin asked. He was beginning to get hungry and figured that Bilbo and Thorin would appreciate a meal when they returned. If he was going to forgive the hobbit for his transgression he figured that he should do it properly.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Frodo had to admit that he was more than confused by what had just happened. Had his uncle  _really_  punched that large dwarf? Frodo wasn't sure what had gotten into Bilbo lately, but he knew that he didn't like it. Since when did his uncle faint, fly into rages and storm out on  _breakfast_? True, his uncle had always been strange—reclusive and a bit too sad and a bit too rude for a hobbit—but this . . . was this what Bilbo had been like before Frodo had met him? Somehow he didn't think so. The dwarves had seemed just as shocked by Bilbo's actions as Frodo had.

At the thought of the dwarves, Frodo grew a little apprehensive. While he didn't think that they would harm him in any way, he could hear raised voices coming from the pantry. In the past two days there had been more raised voices in Bag End than Frodo had heard in the entire twelve years he had lived there. He halfway hoped that his uncle and Thorin would return quickly. Thorin seemed to be the only one that could rein the others in at all and from the sound of it, there was about to be another fist fight.

So when the sound of voices faded suddenly and no sound of blows followed, it took everything Frodo had not to go and see what had happened. To say that he was suspicious when the dwarves returned from the pantry carrying food and began to cook would be the understatement of the century. There was no yelling, no crude comments, nothing more than the occasional "can you pass me that." Soon the smells of a warm meal began to waft from the fireplace and Frodo felt his mouth begin to water in anticipation. He edged forward a bit to try and see what it was they were cooking, but pulled back when Dwalin turned to look at him.

The dwarf smiled sadly at him. "Don't worry lad," Dwalin said gently, "I don't bite. I'm sorry that you had to see that a bit ago. I overreacted."

"Um. . . I can't say that I would have handled that well either," Frodo said trying to be diplomatic. He didn't think he would have reacted in the same way, but no one had ever punched him in the nose either.

Dwalin laughed in response and threw an arm around the hobbit. "I'll bet your reaction would have put my rage to shame," he said. "Hobbits are ferocious creatures when provoked." Frodo looked at him skeptically. Other than Bilbo that morning, Frodo couldn't recall having ever seen a hobbit provoked to violence.

Seeing his look, Dwalin laughed again and looked at his brother and Bofur. "He doesn't believe me," Dwalin said a mock hurt tone in his voice.

"Oh, hobbits are dangerous creatures alright," Bofur replied with a laugh. Now Frodo  _knew_  they were making fun of him. No one in their right mind would  _ever_  consider hobbits dangerous. "Do you remember what happened the time that Thorin walked right up to Bilbo and informed him that he wanted him? Right in the middle of camp no less!"

"I thought Bilbo was going to kill him," Balin replied laughing. "I never knew something that small could be so menacing. I think that was the only time I ever saw Thorin cower, and I knew him as a child. Your uncle," he said turning to address Frodo—who was still being held against Dwalin's side, "grabbed the King of the Dwarves by the elbow and drug him out of camp to yell at him."

"Shouldn't have bothered," Dwalin mumbled. "With a voice as high as his, the sound carried back to us anyway. I hadn't known the hobbit  _knew_  some of those words."

"Especially the ones in Khuzdul," Bofur added. "Right vile those were! I suppose that should be a sign that we swear too much, that he picked up on those, eh?"

"Why?" Frodo asked genuinely curious. He had learned a few languages from his uncle and knew that it was the swear words that he remembered the most clearly. "Those are the words most people remember best."

"Yes," Balin agreed, "But we didn't actually  _teach_  them to him. He picked them up on his own. That is something for you to take away. Hobbits may be smaller than most other things in the world  _but_  what you lack in size you make up for in cunning. It wasn't his size that enabled Bilbo to free us from the dungeons of the Elf King, or to creep into the den of Smaug. It was his  _mind_."

"So he really did do all of those things?" Frodo asked. When he had been a child he had believed every word that Bilbo had said. But as he had gotten older, so many of the things his uncle claimed to have done were so fantastic that there was no way they could have actually happened. You didn't play riddles with a creature intent on eating you, or trade riddles with a dragon for that matter!

"Aye," Balin replied with a fond smile.

"We would have been lost without Bilbo," Bofur replied his eyes crinkling with the force of his smile.

"And I'd have been lost without you," Bilbo said softly. They all turned to face him. They hadn't heard him come back in. He stood in front of Thorin not quite looking at them. He looked defeated and tired.

"Dwalin," Bilbo began looking up at the dwarf with sad eyes. "I am so sorry. I never should have hit you. What you said was out of line, but . . . I overreacted. I'm sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

"If you were a dwarf, the answer would be no," Dwalin replied grimly. "You have been saying that we do not respect your habits, but what you did was a great transgression on ours. We  _do not_  get into fist fights unless we intend to finish the fight in a lethal fashion." Bilbo looked down in shame. He hadn't realized what he had done was  _that_  bad. He knew that he had never seen dwarves throw punches outside of combat, but he hadn't realized that he had actually challenged Dwalin to a fight to the death.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said desolately. "I-I didn't know. I don't want to fight you. Not really."

"And I don't want to fight you," Dwalin replied with a small smile. "That's why, since you are a hobbit and an old friend, I will forgive you this time. Please do not put me in this position again."

"I won't!" Bilbo promised vehemently. "I'm not even sure what came over me last time. I don't remember deciding to hit you at all." At that the others exchanged looks. Had they really provoked Bilbo to the point that he blacked out? They were more determined than ever to find out what was bothering their hobbit. It had to be more than just Thorin's return.

"In that case," Dwalin replied, "come join us. We were just talking about how useful you were on the adventure despite your rather rocky start."

"Aye!" Bofur replied grabbing the hobbit by the wrist and pulling him over to the table. "We all know how much you like talking about yourself." Balin shot him a warning glance. That was not treating the hobbit delicately. But rather than take offence Bilbo laughed.

"Of course I do," he said. "I have to if I want to keep up with you lot. Always trading compliments with one another and never having one for the poor, beardless hobbit."

"Oh not this again!" Bofur replied with a mock-sad head shake. "Your uncle has been bringing that back up for sixty years! I wish I had never said it!"

"Said what?" Frodo asked while Bilbo chuckled merrily and Bofur refused to answer. "What did you say?" Thorin's laugh now joined them. He remembered it clearly.

"Bofur said . . . well," Thorin paused as he tried to think of where to pick up the story, "We had just started the journey. We weren't much past Bree, were we?" He paused while the others nodded. "Anyway that is not the point. It was a few nights before we encountered the trolls and . . . well this wasn't exactly my  _finest_  moment . . . I was trying to embarrass your uncle and get him to return home. At the time, I thought that he was too soft and would die on the quest. I didn't realize how much we needed him. How much  _I_  needed him." At the last words Thorin smiled gently at Bilbo, love burning in his eyes.

"So," Thorin continued not breaking eye contact with Bilbo. "I set him to a task I figured he had no way of completing. It was a horrible day. There was rain and wind. Lighting a fire in that would have been a challenge for any of us. I  _knew_  there was no way that Bilbo could do it. I figured that the rain and misery of it all on top of the disappointment of failing would turn him home. I was wrong."

"He didn't go home when he failed?" Frodo asked knowing the answer since Bilbo had completed the quest. When it became clear that Thorin was not going to continue the story, Balin picked up the thread.

"He didn't fail," Balin said proudly. "Remember what I told you about hobbit brains?" Frodo nodded in reply. "He thought his way through it."

"But how?" Frodo asked. "If it was raining and there was wind enough that you didn't think  _dwarves_  could get a fire going how did Bilbo accomplish it?"

"Through the help of my brother," Bofur replied with a laugh. "You've never met him, but Bombur is and was exceptionally fat for a dwarf. Bilbo convinced him that it would be worth it if he would stand as a windbreak until Bilbo could get a fire going that could withstand it."

"But how did that make up for the wet wood?" Frodo knew how hard it was to light a fire in less than ideal conditions since Bilbo had insisted he learn. Why? He didn't know but he hadn't argued with him. Bilbo had spent far too much time with dwarves and their stubbornness had rubbed off on him.

"I may have helped with that," Bofur said sheepishly. Thorin looked up in surprise. He had never heard this part of the tale before. Had Bofur actually lit the fire that night?

"Now don't look at me like that," Bofur said wagging a finger at Thorin. The ex-king raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. "I didn't light it. All I did was sacrifice a bit of the ale."

"Ale doesn't burn!" Frodo insisted. He hadn't tried, but he couldn't see where it would. It was a liquid, and liquids didn't burn.

"Dwarven ale does," Bilbo insisted. "That stuff is not fit to drink, but as a fluid to light a fire . . . it is perfect." He ignored the protests of the dwarves as to the drinkability of dwarven ale and continued. "It burned just hot enough just long enough for the wood to catch. So we had a warm meal."

"But how does that—"

"After he had the fire blazing," Bofur said cutting Frodo off. "I  _may_  have said that he had done a fairly good job on it for a creature that didn't have a beard."

"No," Bilbo replied with a laugh, "Your exact words were "Not half bad, hobbit. Too bad about the fact that you can't grow a beard half as well as you light a fire," if memory serves. It was Fíli who—" Bilbo cut himself off at the memory of the laughter of Thorin's nephews. He hadn't meant to bring them up. He knew that Thorin had to miss them terribly. If anything ever happened to Frodo . . . and he wasn't even Bilbo's real nephew.

"Fíli said that you had done a better job than Kíli could," Thorin continued a sad, fond smile on his face as he remembered the way that Fíli's eyes had lit with mischief and Kíli's with anger before he had replied. "and Kíli replied that even if he couldn't light a fire at least he could grow a beard. Which set the two of them off on the fact that Kíli didn't yet have a full beard which Kíli  _swore_  he someday would. Said it would shame his brother's." He swallowed hard at the reminded that his youngest nephew had never been able to fulfill that threat. And it had been his fault. He looked up when Bilbo placed a hand on his arm. The hobbit was looking at him with sad eyes.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said quietly. "I shouldn't have—"

"No," Thorin said shaking his head. "They were strong lads and good friends. There is no reason that we should not talk of them. To forget them would be to shame their memory." Bilbo nodded but said nothing. No one did for a time and the only sound in the kitchen was that of Balin stirring the food. Even though no one had declared it as such it was a moment of silence for what those they had lost on the quest to reclaim Erebor.

Eventually it was Frodo who tentatively broke the silence. "Um . . . I have a question," he said. When the only glances he got were those of curiosity rather than hostility he continued. "Why is Uncle Bilbo so reluctant to let you do the dishes?" His only reply was a chorus of laugher from the dwarves and an anxious chuckle from Bilbo.

"We'll show you later," Bofur promised with a grin that Frodo didn't like in the least. Frodo looked anxiously at Bilbo. He wouldn't let them do anything  _too_  dangerous, right?

"Just remember, Frodo my lad, you asked for this," Bilbo replied with a shrug. "The dwarves have a very . . .  _peculiar_  idea of what it means to "do the dishes"."

 


	10. "Doing the Dishes" and Weaponry

Lunch was an uneventful affair. The dwarves and Bilbo traded stories from the quest as Frodo listened eagerly and they all ate. It all sounded like fun to Frodo and with every story they told of a prank someone had pulled or some scrape that they had gotten out of in one piece Frodo felt his desire for an adventure like Bilbo's grow. What he didn't realize was that they were  _purposefully_ sticking to the pleasant memories. There had been enough anger and sadness in Bag End without them summoning it unnecessarily. But eventually it summoned itself.

"It sounds like you all had fun on your quest," Frodo said with a smile on his face. Thorin could see the wonder that had grown in the eyes of the younger hobbit and knew that he needed to know that adventures were not all nights spent pleasantly around a campfire or walks along gentle paths with friends. They were hard, cold, bitter things. He only wished that he could have convinced other young, eager things of the same.

"It was not all fun," Thorin said sadly. "What they haven't told you of were all the nights when we were forced to sleep in the rain. Or worse, the nights we got no sleep at all because there were enemies too near. They didn't tell you of the sleepless night we spent as the prisoners of goblins. Or of the feeling of the flames licking at our flesh as we climbed the trees to escape the wargs and goblins. They didn't tell you how it feels to know that you  _will_  die and that nothing you can do will stop it only to be saved at the last moment. They didn't tell you of the fear and uncertainty that comes from knowing that any moment can be your last, of being  _trapped_  in a cell as valuable time is lost. To watch as . . . "

"No," Thorin said shaking his head and glaring at the hobbit, though Frodo could not have known what he had done to upset the dwarf. "The quest was  _not_  fun. There were light moments, yes, but overall it was not  _fun_." Bilbo gently placed his hand on the dwarf's clinched fist. He understood what Thorin was trying to do, but what harm was there really in letting the boy believe quests were fun. He would never have one of his own.

"I'm sorry," Thorin said looking at Frodo, who was crestfallen at what Thorin had said to him. "You had no way of knowing. I should not have been harsh with you. It's just that—"

"I understand," Frodo replied looking up at the dwarf, tears in his blue eyes. "I did a little reading while you were gone. I saw a dwarven genealogy that Bilbo had. I know what happened. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . . I didn't mean to make light of your loss. I'm sorry." Thorin nodded in acceptance of Frodo's condolences while Bilbo searched for a way to break the tension. He found it in Dwalin, who had just stood with a stack of dishes that he intended to take to the sink.

"Dwalin," Bilbo called suddenly. "Catch!" Dwalin turned at his name and quickly cleared a hand to catch the plate that Bilbo frisbeed at him.

"Oh no, lad!" Balin called. "That's not how this is done! It's not a game if you warn him that it is coming first!" and without any more warning than that, Balin threw a plate at Bofur who snatched it from the air as though he had known that it was coming.

"You call that the element of surprise?" Bofur taunted Balin. "Perhaps you are getting too old for this game!"

Suddenly Balin caught a plate that had come from his brother. "Scrape that off better," Dwalin ordered. "If I'm to wash them I want them cleaner than that! Won't do to have the dishwater dirtied before its time by improper scraping. This is a sink, not a river."

"He always was a perfectionist," Balin sighed glancing at Frodo before he tossed the plate to Bilbo, who caught it with much less dexterity than the dwarves had. "You threw him that one. You clean it up," he told Bilbo before he scraped his own plate and threw it to Dwalin.

"What are they doing?" Frodo asked as Dwalin threw a wet plate to Bofur who dried it with a towel before tossing it to Thorin, who raised an eyebrow at being included but stacked it next to him all the same.

"The dishes," Bilbo answered with a laugh, throwing the now-scraped plate back to Dwalin who managed a rather spectacular catch involving a tankard that Thorin had thrown at the same time being knocked with his elbow to land on the plate Bilbo had thrown.

"But . . . is this necessary?" Frodo asked instinctively ducking a plate that flew over his head despite the fact that it was high enough it wouldn't have hit him.

"No," Bofur replied with a cheeky grin to the younger hobbit while catching a cup thrown to him by Dwalin without looking. "But it is fun."

"How do hobbits wash dishes?" Balin asked, lobbing a fork at his brother's head. He knew the answer, having watched Bilbo wash dishes methodically in the streams they encountered during the quest. Hobbits were overly careful with dishes, even when they were nearly indestructible questing dishes.

"Well," Frodo replied not realizing that it was a rhetorical question. "We tend to pass them from hand to hand, not through the air."

"Now that's no fun," Thorin said with a grin as he caught the now-dry cup from Bofur. He hadn't been included the first time and was surprised by how nice it felt to be included in things once again. Perhaps there were perks to not being a king.

"Perhaps not!" Frodo replied with a little shriek as a knife passed uncomfortably close to his nose before being caught by Dwalin. "But there is much less risk for injury."

"You only say that because you aren't participating," Bilbo said patting his nephew on the back. "Go on! Toss something to a dwarf, any dwarf." Frodo shifted uncomfortably but tossed the dinner roll that had landed on the table to Thorin, who was the closest to the bin. It was a rather pathetic toss and barely made it to the dwarf, though they were only a few feet apart.

"A roll?" Thorin asked raising an eyebrow. "You tossed me a roll? I think this was meant for you, Balin, since you are in charge of left-over food."

"Nah," Balin replied with a laugh. "He gave it to you. Perhaps it was a present. You are getting rather thin." Rather than respond, Thorin threw the roll at the white-headed dwarf's head. His lips quirked in slight disappointment when Balin caught it. But he was avenged, somewhat, when Balin—who was preoccupied with leveling a glance at Thorin—did not see the plate that Bilbo tossed him and it hit him in the forehead. He managed to catch it before it shattered on the ground, but it left a slight red mark on his forehead.

"Oh my!" Bilbo exclaimed standing to go to the dwarf he had just conked in the head with a plate. "I'm sorry! I thought you would see it!" But Balin only waved him off and threw a barrage of dishes at his brother in an attempt to get one past Dwalin, who caught them all and threw his own barrage at Bofur.

"All part of the game, laddie," Balin replied with a grin. "But we can't have you winning, now can we? A  _hobbit_  winning over dwarves, no that won't do at all."

"No," Bofur agreed as he caught all the dishes with ease despite them being wet and slippery. "We will have to increase the pace of this game if we are to beat Bilbo's record of one plate to Balin's head."

"It's a contest!?" Frodo asked edging out of the way as the tosses began to get more spectacular and the objects thrown with more speed and intensity.

"My dear boy," Bilbo said with a laugh tossing a plate at Balin and intercepting a glass that was intended for Thorin, "everything the dwarves do is a contest. Is there money on this one, lads?"

"No," Dwalin replied with a laugh of his own. "We forgot to place wagers on who would win this time."

"That's too bad," Thorin said just as he managed to peg both Dwalin and Bofur with plates. As he was the end of the chain neither of them had been expecting them to come from him. "I fear that I may be broke."

"I'm not," Bilbo replied with a smile. "You can spend the rest of your days as a kept dwarf."

"Ah, now, Bilbo, don't make promises you cannot keep," Thorin said with a smile. "Remember I was once a king. I might have rather expensive tastes."

"A king that lived as a blacksmith," Bilbo replied tossing the glass he had caught only moments before to Thorin. "You will get by on whatever I can provide. I'm sure of it. Gold goes a rather long way here in the Shire."

"That was cheating," Balin said to Bilbo. "If you aren't going to even  _try_  to hit him with it you shouldn't throw it."

"Who says I wasn't trying?" Bilbo insisted with a laugh. "Hobbits do not throw nearly as hard as dwarves."

"Tell that to my forehead," Balin grumbled before tossing the last dish to his brother. The last of the clean dishes were tossed to Bofur and then to Thorin and then it was calm in the kitchen again save for the laughter that was still in the air.

"So what is the final count?" Dwalin asked sitting down once more.

"I have one for Bilbo, and two each for Balin and Thorin," Bofur said attempting to tally it in his head. "Anyone disagree?" They all shook their heads. Those who had kept count had the same tally, and those who hadn't couldn't disagree.

"So who won?" Frodo asked peeking back out from behind the doorpost now that nothing was flying through the air.

"I did," Both Balin and Thorin said at the same time before they began to debate their positions, Balin claiming that it was more impressive that he had hit Dwalin twice while Thorin argued that it was more impressive to have hit both Dwalin and Bofur at the same time.

"I think we need a rematch," Thorin said, his eyes alight with mischief. "We can settle this after dinner."

"What?" Frodo asked. "This wasn't a one-time thing? You lot do this at  _every_  meal?"

"Not  _every_  meal, no," Bofur replied with a shrug. "Only meals that require dishes." At the look of horror on his nephew's face at the prospect of a meal that didn't require dishes Bilbo decided it was time to intervene.

"But don't worry, Frodo my lad, they will not be washing the dishes after dinner," Bilbo said with a gentle smile. Frodo sighed in relief. He wasn't sure that he could stand more flying dining utensils. "Since you didn't participate  _you_ will wash up the dinner dishes," Bilbo continued to the laughter of the rest of the company. Frodo only nodded. It seemed like a fair enough arrangement to him.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Once everything was safely stowed away in the cupboard, everyone settled in to spend the afternoon in peaceful pursuits. Bofur and Balin settled themselves down at Bilbo's table to begin making plans for the settlement—after borrowing a map of the Shire from Bilbo—while the rest of the group moved outside. Bilbo wanted to have his afternoon smoke in the garden and Thorin wanted to be with Bilbo, while Dwalin wanted to be outside for a bit and Frodo followed because he was fascinated by the axe that Dwalin carried to the garden with him.

"Is that really necessary?" Bilbo asked with a laugh as the large dwarf settled himself on the front stoop and began cleaning and sharpening his axe.

"Proper weapons care is  _always_  necessary," Dwalin replied with a smile. "When was the last time you even  _looked_ at your sword?"

"Well . . . that is to say . . . "Bilbo began uncomfortably. In truth he hadn't looked at the sword since he returned from his adventure, but he couldn't just  _tell_  Dwalin that.

"You have a sword?" Frodo asked. He had never seen it!

"That answers  _that_ ," Dwalin laughed. "It's been more than twelve years then. Do you even know where it is?"

"Of course I know!" Bilbo replied. "It's wrapped in an oil cloth at the bottom of the chest in my bedroom. If you must know."

"And how long has it been there?" Thorin asked. He was a bit amused and a bit exasperated. He knew that Bilbo knew proper weapons care. He also knew that his little elvish blade would have suffered no harm in that time. It had survived Mahal only knew how long in a Troll Hovel. Twelve years—or even sixty—wrapped in an oilcloth would do no damage to it.

"Sixty years," Bilbo replied sheepishly. "I-I'll just go get it, shall I?" As he shuffled nervously to the door, the two dwarves in the garden began to laugh. That was more like the Bilbo they knew!

"Speaking of swords," Thorin said suddenly. "I seem to be without one. Is there a blacksmith in this town?"

"Yes," Frodo replied warily. "However I don't think he knows how to make swords. Not a lot of demand for that here. But if you needed a plow or a doorknob . . ."

"He has a forge, does he not?" Thorin asked lifting his eyebrow at the hobbit's suggestion that a plow or a doorknob was in any way a replacement for a sword.

"Yes," Frodo replied. "There's a forge. But I don't see how—"

He was cut off a Bilbo returned and dropped his sword unceremoniously into Dwalin's lap. "There," he said with a smug smile. "Check it yourself. Not a spot of rust on it." Dwalin snorted but unsheathed the sword and looked it over.

"Not bad," Dwalin replied. "Not very sharp, but not bad."

"It is more than sharp enough!" Bilbo replied with mock indignation.

"Perhaps to serve as a letter-opener," Dwalin replied. "But as a weapon . . . Frodo, come sit by me and we'll show your uncle how to  _properly_  sharpen a sword." Frodo scrambled over to sit beside Dwalin and carefully took both the sword and the whetstone and watched in awe as Dwalin showed him how to care for a sword.

"'Properly sharpen a sword' indeed!" Bilbo muttered good-naturedly as he seated himself against Thorin once more.

"It is a good skill to have," Thorin offered smiling at the way his hobbit snuggled into his side.

"Not for a hobbit," Bilbo muttered. "When will the lad ever need to sharpen a sword?" In response Thorin only shrugged. He couldn't see where Frodo would ever need the skill, but there was no harm in acquiring it anyway.

"You needed to," Thorin reminded him quietly. "And as you continually reminded us, before we came along you were an altogether normal hobbit. He will most likely be exposed to more dwarves that you were. He may need it someday."

"I sincerely hope not," Bilbo sighed as he leaned against Thorin.

"So do I," Thorin replied watching the way that Frodo smiled up at Dwalin. He knew that an adventure could take that smile from him as it had Bilbo and himself. "Speaking of things that it would be good to have even if they are never used, I would like to acquire a sword."

"Where do you intend to acquire this sword?" Bilbo asked casually. He had no objection to Thorin having a sword, but he didn't want to let him leave long enough to have one made the nearest place with a capable blacksmith would probably be Bree or more likely the Blue Mountains. "We have a blacksmith but—"

"I know," Thorin said. "Frodo told me. I intended to offer my services to work off the supplies and time that I would need. I doubt he will deny me."

"A dwarven blacksmith in the Hobbiton?" Bilbo asked with a laugh. "Of course he won't deny you! Once word spreads, his will be the busiest forge in the Shire."

"I thought as much," Thorin replied with a smile. "Dwarven smiths were very much in demand sixty years ago. I made a decent living at it. Can you show me where it is?"

"Of course," Bilbo replied standing and offering the dwarf his hand with a smile. "I've always wanted to know how swords are made."

"If he lets us in it will be unbearably hot in the forge," Thorin warned. "Blacksmith work is not a comfortable trade."

"I would still watch, if you will allow me to," Bilbo said with a nervous grin. "I know that dwarves keep their secrets closely guarded. If you would prefer that I remain here. . . "

"My dear hobbit," Thorin replied pulling him into a hug. "I would keep no secrets from you." Bilbo felt a smile split his face as he stood on his toes to brush his lips against Thorin's. He sighed as Thorin bent and deepened the kiss.

"Must you do that here?" Dwalin asked with a laugh. "There are rooms just inside that would offer you privacy. The lad and I just ate." Bilbo didn't pause in his kissing but made a rather obscene hand gesture in Dwalin's general direction that he had learned from Bofur. Dwalin laughed, both at the gesture and the color that Frodo's face had taken on.

"Let's have mercy on the lad," Thorin whispered against Bilbo's lips. "At least let him get used to the idea first."

"If we must," Bilbo replied breaking the kiss but not releasing the dwarf. Dwalin had a smirk on his face and Frodo was decidedly green. "Sorry," Bilbo offered sheepishly. He hadn't thought about how Frodo would feel about seeing the two of them expressing their affection.

"We have an errand we need to run," Thorin announced. "We will return when we can." It was everything that Dwalin could do to resist the urge to make a snide comment about what that errand might be, but he did manage to resist it.

"We'll be here," he said instead. "And your house will be in one piece."

"It had better," Bilbo replied with a mock glare.

"Where are you going?" Frodo asked, feeling mildly alarmed at being left alone for an indeterminate amount of time with the dwarves. They were nice enough, but he wasn't sure that he could keep them from destroying the house if it came down to it.

"Don't worry about it," Bilbo replied. "We'll be back."

"But—" Dwalin leaned down and whispered something in Frodo's ear that caused his eyes to go wide before he gave a small squeak and they fluttered as he passed out. Thorin leveled a glare at the warrior.

"What?" Dwalin asked with a shrug. "I only told him what you  _might_  be going to do involved swords. It's not my fault if he took it the wrong way." Thorin didn't look convinced, but Bilbo wasn't offended or angry so he let it go and allowed Bilbo to lead him down the path back into town.

Once they were gone, Dwalin stood and poked his head in the door. "Mark me down for one more," he called to his brother and Bofur. "I pulled it off again. And I should actually get two; I did it right under Bilbo and Thorin's noses without angering either of them!"

"Only good for one," Bofur replied absently. "Only one hobbit fainted. Kudos on the other part though."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all for now folks! I hope you enjoyed it and would love to know what you think (even if you hated it) so please leave me a review if you have time and/or feel so inclined.
> 
> Stickdonkeys


	11. Madness and a Trip to the Forge

Had Bilbo thought more carefully about it, he would probably have taken a less direct path to the forge. It couldn't  _possibly_  have taken longer. As it was, he had led Thorin by the most direct path out of habit: a path that took them right through the market. The market where the two of them had been  _mobbed_  by hobbits. At first, Bilbo had been nervous, but all the hobbits had wanted to do was ask questions. It seemed that Bilbo and one dwarf were much less intimidating that Bilbo and  _four_  dwarves had been. Bilbo almost wished that they  _were_  still intimidated. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic . . . and vaguely jealous as he saw the gentle smiles that Thorin was giving to the other hobbits.

Thorin, however, was not feeling claustrophobic in the least. The hobbits were leaving a respectable space between them and were showing no signs of aggression. He wasn't sure why they were so interested in him when they had seemed afraid of the others, but it pleased him because—despite Bilbo's insistence that hobbits would not tolerate dwarves in the Shire—it showed that they were willing to tolerate dwarves—if the dwarves in question behaved themselves. What did worry him was the tension that he could feel radiating from Bilbo. He had seen it before. He could still remember the reaction that the company had elicited from the hobbit when they had crowded around him too closely one night at dinner.

_They had been intrigued by his curly hair, his bare feet and his pointed ears and had surrounded him, more than one dwarf touching the hobbit and all of them looking at him as though he had two heads. It had been early in the quest and Thorin had seen that they were angering the hobbit but hadn't felt that he needed to put a stop to it. He had felt that Bilbo either needed to stand up for himself or go home._

_And stand up for himself Bilbo had! He had made quite a scene; standing up to his full—and rather unimpressive—height with his hands on his hips and murder burning in his eyes._

" _I beg your pardon!" Bilbo had snapped as he knocked away the hands that were still on him despite him having moved. "I will not abide by this! I am a hobbit! Not a pet! I will thank you all to keep your hands to yourselves!" Thorin had smiled at the chagrinned looks on the faces of the others as they muttered apologies and sidled away from him. He had never figured the hobbit capable of cowing a group of dwarves. That was the first time that he felt the first stirrings of feelings for the smallest member of their company and had wondered if the hobbit would protest if_ _he_ _decided not to keep his hands to himself._

Even though no one was touching him this time, Thorin feared that Bilbo was about to make another scene and figured that it would be better to extract them from the situation before it happened. Especially with the strange way the hobbit had been behaving lately. With Bilbo's strange rages even  _he_  wasn't sure what Bilbo would do if provoked.

"I'm very sorry," Thorin said suddenly cutting off a hobbit's question with a soft smile. "We really must continue our journey. I have urgent business I must take care before nightfall." Rather than be offended, the hobbits cleared a path in the direction Thorin and Bilbo had been traveling before they were mobbed and apologized for delaying them.

As soon as they were out of earshot, the residents of Hobbiton began to gossip once more. Hobbits love gossip, and  _true_  gossip is even more of a draw. Especially when the true gossip has a mystery attached that can give rise to speculation. Even though they now knew the name of the polite dwarf, his name told them next to nothing about him  _or_  his relationship with Bilbo. It was in the last areas that speculation abounded. Strangely enough, the suggestions that got rejected as being  _too_  far-fetched (that Thorin Oakenshield was well-mannered because he was some form of dwarven royalty, and that he and Bilbo were more than just friends) were the ones that were the truth.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Once they had cleared the crowd, it was clear to Thorin that Bilbo was still seething. Thorin didn't understand it. It had only been a small delay. They would still make it to the forge in time for him to speak with the smith and perhaps even start work. And even if they did not, it was not a particularly urgent errand—despite what he had told the hobbits—he didn't necessarily  _need_  a sword as long as they were in the Shire. Perhaps Bilbo was upset because he thought that Thorin was.

"They were rather friendly," Thorin said warmly trying to show Bilbo that he didn't care. "I thought you said that hobbits would not tolerate dwarves in the Shire. They seem to like me well enough." Bilbo said nothing but only harrumphed in response and kept walking without looking at Thorin.

"It was only a small delay," Thorin said trying again. "They were just curious. Understandably so." Bilbo glared at him and muttered something else that he couldn't hear.

"Why are you upset?" Thorin finally asked, figuring that a direct route would be better. Bilbo had always been a little passive aggressive and would only reveal what bothered him when he built up enough pressure to explode or when challenged directly.

"You ask as though you don't know," Bilbo snarled.

"I don't!" Thorin replied sharply. "If I knew, I wouldn't have asked." He wasn't sure how many more of Bilbo's mood swings he could handle. He loved the hobbit very much, but he was not accustomed to coddling people for fear of their responses. And all of Bilbo's yelling was starting to grate on his nerves. He knew that he deserved some of the hobbit's anger, but he had done nothing this time to merit this attitude.

"It was you!" Bilbo snapped whirling suddenly to face Thorin, that same strange light in his eyes that had been there earlier. "You didn't have to be so  _nice_  as you answered their questions!"

"What would you have me do?" Thorin asked his voice growing loud while he gestured animatedly. He did not want to argue with Bilbo but if the hobbit wanted an argument that was what he would get. Thorin had no intention of allowing Bilbo to level baseless accusations. "Should I have snapped at them? Been rude? Snubbed them entirely?"

"You did me when we first met," Bilbo snapped glaring up at the dwarf.

"That was an entirely different circumstance!" Thorin snapped in reply. "I was about to take you into the wilds! Not talking with you in the market! I feared that bringing you along would not only lead to your death but to the death of us all. There is a steep learning curve in quests. You either live or you die by the decisions that you make. That was  _not_  the time for kindness and introductions!"

"And," Thorin added, "If you remember, I did not treat you that much differently than anyone on the quest. Not even my own kin. Everyone was subject to the same treatment. I was a little preoccupied with keeping us  _alive_  to observe niceties."

"There is a fine line between niceties and what you were just doing!" Bilbo snapped the implications clear in the words and tone. Bilbo thought that Thorin had been  _flirting_  with the other hobbits! What a ludicrous idea! Bilbo was jealous. If the situation had been less explosive, Thorin would have been amused. Bilbo had never shown even the faintest hint of jealousy before and the dwarf hadn't been aware that the hobbit had it in him. As it was . . .

"You've lost your mind," Thorin said his voice a horrified whisper, his anger fading and concern taking its place. He realized quickly that the words were true. He could see the madness in Bilbo's eyes that had once been in his grandfather's—though the source was different. That was why that strange light unhinged him so. He recognized the first stirrings of madness.

"What?" Bilbo asked, the madness fading slightly to be replaced by confusion. What as Thorin talking about. He placed his head in his hands and thought about it carefully. As suddenly as the anger had come on, it faded. With a sudden rush of clarity, he realized that he was being unreasonable. Thorin had behaved just as he should have in the situation they were in. The dwarves would need the goodwill of the hobbits and Thorin could get it for them. He had done nothing wrong, nor had the others. The fault had been Bilbo's. Why had he gotten so upset over nothing? He looked back up at Thorin.

The lost look in Bilbo's eyes nearly broke the dwarf. He was so confused, and underneath the confusion was fear. But at least the madness was gone, for now. Thorin couldn't resist the urge to pull Bilbo into his arms, though he knew that the hobbit had issues with public displays of affection. He leaned down and buried his face in Bilbo's downy curls, stroking the back of his head. He had no idea what he could do to help Bilbo with this. He felt helpless.

"Thorin," Bilbo began, his voice soft and just as lost as his eyes, "what's wrong with me?" The question had been a rhetorical one. He didn't think that his lover would actually know the answer. Even though Thorin knew the answer, he didn't disclose it. He couldn't bear to be the one to tell the hobbit that he was going insane but neither could he bring himself to lie to him and say that nothing was wrong. Instead, he tightened his hold on the hobbit and held him there, in the middle of the road until his sobs subsided.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Eventually, Bilbo's sobs quieted. But the time they had, there was no sign on Thorin's face of the pain that he felt at what Bilbo was going through. Neither of them said a word about what had just taken place, but rather continued their trip to the forge.

When they arrived, the forge was silent, though the fire was still lit and unbanked. The smith was nowhere to be seen.

"Hello," Thorin called, poking his head into the doorway. "Is there anyone here?"

"Hello!" came the call from the other side of a closed door. It opened to reveal the burliest hobbit that Thorin had ever seen. There was no roundness to his figure and he actually had muscles. It was a strange sight.

"Sorry. I was enjoying my lunch. What can I do for you, Master Dwarf?" the smith asked, a warm smile on his face that crinkled the heat creased skin around his hazel eyes.

"I find myself in need of a good sword, Master Smith," Thorin replied with a smile. He felt his own smile fall slightly as the smith's face took on a pained expression.

"I'm afraid that I can't help you," the smith replied, regret apparent in his tone. He knew that it was rare for dwarves to be in the Shire, but when they were . . . they paid well for good service and he prided himself on his work as a smith. But a sword . . . that was beyond his ability.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance to you," Thorin said gently.

"How so?" the hobbit asked suspicion in his eyes. He had no idea what the dwarf intended to offer him.

"I will offer my services to you, if you have need of them, and in exchange all I ask is the supplies and time that I will need to forge a sword for myself, " Thorin explained. "Do you find these terms agreeable?"

"So," the hobbit said slowly as he tried to think through what had just been said. "You will work for me and all you ask is that I allow you the time and materials to forge a sword?"

"Yes," Thorin agreed with a nod. "What say you?"

"What say I?" The hobbit crowed delight in his eyes. "Master Dwarf, your terms are more that agreeable! To think, a dwarven smith in my forge!" Thorin smiled at his enthusiasm and nodded his head.

"In that case, I'll get started on whatever you need me to do, shall I?" Thorin asked. The hobbit nodded eagerly and led Thoirn and Bilbo into the forge, showing Thorin where he kept all the materials of the trade. Thorin looked around with a critical, practiced eye and realized that despite his limited skills the hobbit did have a good set-up and many fine things could be made here. He nodded his approval and saw the smith's eyes light up in delight at the praise.

"Where would you like me to start?" Thorin asked as he removed his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin had been right. It was unbelievably hot in the forge once Thoirn got it going once more. Bilbo had had to step outside repeatedly to cool off. And during all of his breaks, the dwarf had worked tirelessly on mundane things: broken pots, new hinges, spokes for a cart. Even so, Bilbo couldn't help but be intrigued. For some reason, his mind had never been able to reconcile the competing images he had of Thorin: that of the proud leader and king and that of the simple blacksmith. But now he realized that there was nothing to reconcile. They were one and the same. Even as a blacksmith, Thorin dominated the room and commanded order. True in one case he was commanding the compliance of people and in the other metal, but he faced both tasks with the same calm determination. And in both cases, Thorin was a sight to behold.

Even though he had seen Thorin completely naked more times than he could count on one hand, and seen him dressed in finery, something about the sight of his ex-lover wearing nothing more than his undershirt and pants with his skin sheened with sweat was almost more arousing than seeing him completely nude had been. It could have had something to do with the look of pure focus in his eyes as he shaped the metal to his meet his desires.

He had also finally learned something that had bothered him for the entirety of their acquaintance: the purpose of the braids under his hair beside his face. Bilbo had always wondered why Thorin had braids there, they didn't seem to have any purpose and weren't particularly intricate. But now he knew. Before he had begun working, Thorin had gathered up his long hair and used the two braids to tie it back from his face. Bilbo had never seen his hair pulled back before and despite the strangeness of it—or perhaps because of it—Bilbo couldn't seem to quit watching him. Even now that he had been watching for the better part of the afternoon, Bilbo found that he could not tear his eyes from the dwarf.

Thorin tried to focus only on his work. He had quickly learned that what he had told Bilbo was true. Now that there was no one forcing him to do it, he found that he truly enjoyed working as a smith. There was something rewarding about seeing something broken or formless come into being something useful under his hands. The steady rhythm of the hammer. He found it soothing almost. But despite the allure of the forge, it paled in comparison to the allure of his hobbit's heated gaze on him. The flush on his face had more to do with desire than the heat rising from the forge. He could feel Bilbo watching him and as he paused to allow the metal to reheat or cool as needed, he snuck glances at the hobbit, surprised at the wonder and lust that burned in his eyes.

He was sure of only one thing: if Bilbo did not stop looking at him that way, things might escalate at a rate that Bilbo might just be unprepared for. Especially since he would be done with work shortly. The pot in his hands was the last thing that the Smith had asked him to do and there were lots of dark, secluded corners between the forge and Bag End. And if he remembered correctly—which he did—Bilbo had no objection to making love under the stars.


	12. Alley-Shenanigans, Rumors and Khuzdul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I debated about how to do this and decided that ,even thought I don't have to, I will keep the same formatting here that I have on FF.net and post the smut in a separate story just because I have little smutty outtakes that are related to this story that wouldn't actually fit into the flow. I've posted them in a separate story called Past and Present Entwined (which I have linked to this one) If this chapter leves you unsatisfied (or you just want to see a little smut) check it out!

Even though it seemed like it took an eternity to Thorin, he did eventually finish the pot in his hands. It seemed to have taken longer than it should have, but that could have been because Bilbo's heated gaze was still making it difficult for him to concentrate on shaping the metal as he imagined something entire different being worked under his hands on that anvil. But eventually he managed it.

When the sound of the hammer stopped for more than a few moments, the smith came out of the adjoining room where he had retired to give Thorin privacy to work. He knew that dwarves jealously guarded their trade secrets and was more than willing to surrender control of his forge knowing that having a dwarf working there would bring more than enough monetary compensation to make up for that small indignity. He was shocked to see that Bilbo was still there, and had clearly been permitted to watch as the dwarf worked.

He knew that Bilbo had disappeared for a year sixty years ago and that dwarves were rumored to have been involved, but he hadn't realized that Bilbo was close enough to them that they would let him observe them at work. It boggled his mind. As did the flush across both Bilbo and the dwarf's faces. As far as forges went, it wasn't that bad in there. It was a cool day and there was a bit of a breeze. It made no sense that the  _dwarf_  would be flushed.

The smith cautiously approached the pile of objects Thorin had completed. He wanted to inspect the workmanship but didn't want to risk insulting the dwarf. He knew that they were a proud race and worried that it would be seen as offensive that he wanted to look. He hated to think that he might drive the dwarf to another forge. But rather than be insulted, Thorin gestured with a hand at the pile and nodded with a smile on his face.

Thorin had no objection to the smith checking his work. It had been done well and would pass any inspection. Even so, he would have expected no less. As he was working for the hobbit, any flaws in his work would reflect poorly on the smithy and would result in a loss of business. It was not out of distrust that the hobbit checked, or any hostility. It was simply self-preservation.

But the hobbit need not have feared. All of the work was flawless, the places where the two metals met nearly invisible. The dwarf had known what he was doing and his work reflected the knowledge.

"This was well done, Master Dwarf," the smith said with a smile as he held a pot aloft.

"Thank you," Thorin replied with a slight bow. "I've had much practice with iron." The hobbit smith nodded. Thorin's practice was apparent. "Is there anything else you wish for me to do today?"

"No," the hobbit replied with a shake of his head. "I have nothing else to do. This was all of the work for the day. If you would be willing to return after lunch tomorrow I will have found more work for you."

"I will return, Master . . . " Thorin gestured for a name. It would be more polite than continuing to call the hobbit 'smith' and it appeared that they would be working together for some time. It was truly an agreeable set-up. With Thorin coming after lunch, the hobbit would work the forge in the morning and Thorin would take over until dark.

"Tom," the hobbit supplied. "May I have your name as well or do you wish to continue to be known only as 'Master Dwarf'?"

"Thorin Oakenshield," the dwarf replied with a bow, "at your service."

"Master Thorin, then," Tom said with a smile and a small bow of his own. "For tonight, I will bid you farewell."

"Farewell until tomorrow, Master Tom," Thorin replied before gathering up his outer layers and replacing them before following Bilbo into the rapidly dimming evening.

They had only gone a short ways from the forge when Bilbo's hand brushed his. He glanced down at the hobbit and saw him looking coyly up at him through his curly bangs. The desire Thorin had seen earlier still burnt in his hazel eyes and caused an uncomfortable tightness to coil within the dwarf's stomach. This needed to be dealt with. Soon.

They continued back towards town, Thorin's eyes scanning for a suitable place to waylay the hobbit where there was the least chance of them being caught or interrupted. Suddenly a suitable alleyway came into sight. Glancing around quickly to make sure that there was no one around, Thorin grabbed the hobbit by the upper arm and drug him into the darkness. Bilbo looked at him with wide, surprised eyes as Thorin pinned him to the wooden wall of one of the buildings.

"Thorin, what—" Bilbo had time to ask before Thorin's lips were on his. The kiss a nearly aggressive declaration of desire and intent.

"Do you have  _any_  idea how difficult it was for me to focus on my work today?" Thorin growled before beginning to kiss and nip his way down Bilbo's neck. The hobbit panted at the unexpected attention and tipped his head back to allow the dwarf better access.

"It couldn't have been that difficult," Bilbo panted out as his throat worked convulsively trying to keep his own desire at bay. Thorin couldn't mean to . . . not  _here_. "You-you managed it well enough."

"It took every ounce of self-control that I possess not to bend you over the anvil and take you right there. Hobbit sensibilities be damned," Thorin growled as he began to unbutton Bilbo's shirt and waistcoat. Thorin  _did_  intend for it to be there and only the right—or wrong—words from Bilbo would be able to stop him.

Despite himself, Bilbo found that mental image extremely arousing. He had never been one for public displays of affection, not really, and had  _never_  dreamed of exhibitionism, but the thought of Thorin claiming him in such a public fashion—in the Shire, of all places—had his mind wandering and him gasping for air. He could only imagine the look on the smith's face if Thorin had done it. It would have been priceless. True, they never could have left Bag End again, not after something like  _that_  but it would have been worth it.

"Why didn't you?" Bilbo asked breathless at the scenario his mind had conjured up—or it could have been the unadulterated lust in Thorin's blue eyes.

"I didn't want to scandalize the neighborhood," Thorin said, the pad of his thumb stroking Bilbo's face and his voice little more than a purr. "And I  _assure_  you, the entire neighborhood would have heard us. As it is, unless you tell me to stop, they still may because I will take you right here against this wall." The decidedly predatory smile on his face only served to excite Bilbo all the more.

Bilbo said nothing but instead pulled Thorin down into a searing kiss that left them both floored at the desire that was evident in it. It wasn't a kiss of passion, but something filled with want and longing so pure that it shredded the last vestige of restraint that Thorin had been clinging to. With a growl, his hands slid under Bilbo's shirt, popping the last remaining buttons, before he removed both it and the hobbit's jacket in one movement and dropped them unceremoniously to the ground.

**oo*O.O*88*O.O*oo**

Some time later, they stood motionless, both enjoying the closeness that comes after such an intimate encounter. Eventually, with a pleased and sated sound in his throat Bilbo turned slightly and placed his cheek against Thorin's warm chest. The dwarf gasped at the movement, but smiled and released Bilbo's hands—which he had still had pinned to the wall—and used the hand that wasn't wrapped around the hobbit's waist to stroke the side of his face.

"I needed that," Bilbo sighed contentedly. Thorin laughed quietly in response.

"I think we  _both_  needed that," Thorin replied before slowly moving away from Bilbo and beginning to rearrange his own clothing while Bilbo saw to his.

"Do you intend to repair this?" Thorin asked with a smirk as he showed Bilbo the rend in his undershirt that the hobbit had created while ripping his clothes from him.

"Only if you intend to re-sew the buttons  _you_  popped off," Bilbo replied with a smirk of his own, wincing slightly as he bent to retrieve his trousers. That was one thing that he had forgotten: the soreness that occasionally followed an unexpected coupling.

"I hurt you," Thorin said, sadness in his voice.

"No," Bilbo replied automatically. He shifted uncomfortably as he felt the dwarf's icy stare bore into him. Thorin could see that he had. Bilbo was moving far too gingerly. He felt shame wash through him. He should have known better than to let loose. Bilbo was a hobbit, not a dwarf. No matter what Bilbo continually insisted, hobbits were fragile creatures by comparison.

"You didn't," Bilbo said, trying to reassure the upset dwarf. "Not really. I'll be fine. It's just . . . it's been a  _very_  long time. I'll be alright." Thorin gave Bilbo a small smile in response but made a mental note to _never_ ravage Bilbo in an alleyway like this again.

Thorin didn't have to worry too long over his shame at hurting Bilbo through his rough treatment as there was another prepared to take its place. They hadn't exactly been quiet and as Thorin had threatened—not knowing that he spoke the truth—the entire neighborhood had heard them. They exited the alley only to see a small gathering of hobbits standing in the street looking at them with wide shocked eyes. Despite the fact that Bilbo continually told the dwarves that hobbits were a prudish race, they had known  _exactly_  what those  _particular_ sounds had meant. They had also recognized both cries as belonging to males. And despite their embarrassment at listening to others in the throes of passion, they couldn't resist the urge to satisfy their curiosity as to which of their neighbors was engaging in delinquent behavior.

They were only mildly surprised to recognize Bilbo as he walked out of the darkness, his hair mussed, face flushed, and his shirt and waistcoat gapping where buttons were missing—in other words, looking thoroughly ravished. His behavior was odd enough that him engaging in same sex relations was only mildly gossip worthy. What  _they_  wanted to know was who had been with him. That was the truly interesting thing. A thing that only became more interesting as they realized that his companion was not only another male, but a male  _dwarf_. The same one that had been so polite to in the market earlier.

"H-hello," Bilbo said awkwardly, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to smooth it down with a nervous chuckle. They had been caught.

"L-lovely evening, isn't it?" He asked trying to break the tension. None of the assembled hobbits said anything, though their looks weren't particularly hostile, more shocked than anything else. "Even so, I suppose we should be returning to Bag End now," he continued before grabbing Thorin's arm and dragging him in the direction of home at a  _very_  brisk walk. Not a run, but a  _ **very**_  brisk walk.

This time, the hobbits didn't even wait until they were out of earshot before the gossip began. The most outlandish theory that anyone had come up with turned out to be true. Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield were lovers.

**ooOO88OOoo**

They didn't stop walking until they reached Bag End where Bilbo promptly plopped down on the bench in his garden with his head in his hands. Thorin sat next to him, growing concerned as he noticed that the hobbit's shoulders were shaking.

"Bilbo?" Thorin asked quietly. He hoped that the hobbit wasn't  _too_  upset that they had been caught in a rather compromising position. He was shocked when he heard what was undeniably laughter from the bent form next to him.

"Did you see their faces?" Bilbo asked, looking up at Thorin with tears streaming down his face from laughing so hard. "I thought their eyes would pop from their heads."

"You're not angry?" Thorin asked cautiously. He didn't want to incite Bilbo to a rage, but his reaction made no sense. Every time  _anyone_  had mentioned their sex life Bilbo had flown into a temper, but now he was laughing hysterically.

"Angry?" Bilbo asked. "Heavens no! They had to find out eventually and can you think of a better way to break it to them?"

"Actually, yes," Thorin replied with a snort. He wasn't embarrassed to have been caught in the act with Bilbo. That had happened before during the quest. However he was embarrassed to have been caught in the act by  _hobbits_. His dwarves hadn't cared, but the hobbits . . . they  _had_  cared. And it surprised him that Bilbo did not. At Bilbo's dismissive gesture, Thorin felt his eyebrows come together. Even though this was more like the Bilbo that he remembered, it was not the Bilbo that he had seen lately.

"They were traumatized," Thorin reminded him. "By morning everyone will know of our indiscretion."

"They'll get over it," Bilbo replied with a smile. "Besides, no one will believe them. A male hobbit, and a male dwarf, having sex, in an alleyway in the Shire. Everyone else will think that they were a little too far into the cups. Mark my words."

"If you believe so," Thorin said with a sigh. If Bilbo wasn't upset, he saw no reason that he should be. It would either work out or not and there was nothing that he could do about it now.

"I do have one question though," Bilbo said, mischief in his eyes.

"Yes?" Thorin prompted. He had no idea what the hobbit wanted to know but he would do his best to answer it.

"Âzyungâl," Bilbo said suddenly. "What does it mean?" Thorin looked at the hobbit in shock. When had he heard that word? The dwarf couldn't remember having ever said it. Since Bilbo didn't speak Khuzdul Thorin refrained from using it around him when he could. He felt a small rush of jealousy as he wondered what other dwarf had dared to use that word towards his hobbit.

"What?" Thorin asked, trying to tamp down his jealousy. Even had another used it, Bilbo had been well within in rights to take other lovers. Thorin had been dead; he had no right to complain if Bilbo had sought companionship. Even if his other lover had also been a dwarf.

"What does âzyungâl mean?" Bilbo repeated. "I know that you dwarves don't like to give out secrets, but I hoped that after what you said earlier you would be willing to tell me."

"Where did you hear that word?" Thorin asked quietly, some masochistic part of him needed to know who had whispered it to Bilbo. At the hurt in his lover's blue eyes, Bilbo wondered if he had been mistaken. He had assumed it to be a term of endearment, but Thorin's reaction made him think that it must not be.

"You," Bilbo answered his voice uncertain due to Thorin's reaction. "You said it a bit ago while we were . . . " Bilbo trailed off with a blush as he tried to find the right word to describe what had just taken place between them. At the thought that it shouldn't cause him to blush to talk about something he had been able to do, his blush only deepened.

"I did?" Thorin asked, surprise evident in his tone. He didn't remember switching to Khuzdul. But, truth be told, he couldn't say with any certainty that he hadn't.

"You did," Bilbo confirmed with a wry yet fond smile. "Apparently the blood that usually fuels your language skills was otherwise occupied. I don't know that I have ever heard so much Khuzdul from you before. Or at least when you weren't swearing at orcs or elves."

"I wasn't aware that I said it," Thorin said honestly relief flooding through him as he realized that Bilbo hadn't had another dwarf as a lover. His answer, and Thorin's surprise at having said it, caused Bilbo to laugh once more. He had never seen Thorin say or do something that he hadn't meant to.

"Well, you did," Bilbo said trying to tamp down his amusement. "Now what does it mean?"

"It's meaning varies slightly depending on the surrounding context," Thorin said with a relieved sigh and a smile, "but it either means love—as a term of endearment—or lover." Even if he hadn't meant to say it, he didn't mind if Bilbo knew the meaning of that particular word. The hobbit could already  _swear_  in the secret language of the dwarves, he may as well know how to say at least one nice thing. Even if it was a word that only Thorin should ever hear pass his lips. Or if others heard Bilbo say it, it had  _better_  at least be directed at him.

"Hm," Bilbo replied, tilting his head to the side slightly as he thought. "I like it."

"Then you shall hear me say it more often," Thorin whispered as he claimed his lover's lips for another kiss, this one gentle and filled with promise.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Frodo and the dwarves were just sitting down to a late dinner when they heard the front door open. Frodo looked up hopefully. Even though the dwarves had been fairly well behaved, he was greatly comforted by the fact that his uncle and Thorin—who was the only one who could  _actually_  control them—were back in case they decided that the time had come for more mischief.

"Just like Bilbo," Bofur muttered an affectionate smile on his face as he nudged Frodo warmly. "Your uncle always did show up once everything had been taken care of and all he had to do was eat."

"Be fair now, lad," Balin interjected, cutting off Frodo's question about what Bilbo had been doing and causing the younger hobbit to flush at the answer. "It wasn't always his fault. Poor lad couldn't help the fact that Thorin drug him away from the group when he was feeling amorous."

"He could have said 'no.' He didn't have to give in  _every_  time Thorin asked," Bofur argued. "It might even have been more interesting for him if he had tried to frustrate Thorin. Might have made it more passionate when he finally gave in."

"And who says that we needed more passion?" Thorin called suddenly from the entry. Bofur froze. He hadn't realized that he was talking loudly enough for Thorin and Bilbo to hear him. He had also thought that it would take longer for them to get through the house to the kitchen. He turned to try to gage Thorin's response to his words, but they still weren't in sight. He had just been louder than he had meant to be.

"Besides," Bilbo chimed in with a wry smile at his lover and humor in his voice, "saying no would not have changed anything. When Thorin sets his mind to something nothing can change it. You should know that as well as I do."

"I for one am thankful that Bilbo never said no," Dwalin said gruffly, taking Bilbo's joke as permission to comment on their past romps. "I've seen many vile things in my life, but I think that the sight of the two of them writhing together in the middle of camp would have haunted me forever. That is an image that my eyes did not need."

"But you did catch us," Bilbo said a curious expression on his face. "I remember. And I must say that the look on your face was priceless. Though  _why_  you walked in on us I never have been able to figure out. You  _had_  to know why we had left camp so suddenly. Subtlety has never been one of Thorin's strong points when desire takes him." At the slight insult to his self-control Thorin gently elbowed the hobbit, earning himself a smirk from Bilbo.

"What was I supposed to do?" Dwalin asked his voice sounding almost distraught at the memory. "With the way two of you were both crying out and bellowing I thought that there was a battle going on. I was expecting to wipe orcs of the face of the earth, not needing to wash my eyes out."

"Oh! It couldn't have been that bad," Bilbo scoffed. "We're both fairly attractive males. There is no way that seeing us naked scarred you for life. Especially with all the incidental nudity that comes from traveling together with fourteen people for nearly a year."

"It wasn't the nudity that I objected to!" Dwalin replied with a smirk. Bilbo was behaving much better now, perhaps Thorin's talk with him had done the trick . . . or something else had. Dwalin hadn't missed the sly looks that passed between them, or the rumpled look that they both had.

"It was the sounds, and . . ." Dwalin stopped talking with a shudder. "I thought hobbits had  _some_  shame but you showed me that I was wrong. The two of you were doing something that I hadn't even known was possible." At his words, the Bilbo blushed and Thorin looked smug at the reminder of what  _exactly_  they had been doing when Dwalin caught them and the rest of the dwarves wondered what in the name of Mahal it could have been to make  _Dwalin_ shudder. Frodo had absolutely no desire to know. If seeing them kissing had been traumatizing, he had no wish to see what would traumatize the dwarf that seemed to have no shame himself.

"Though from the look of the two of you, nothing has changed," Dwalin continued, a wry smile on his face as he took in Bilbo's mussed clothes and missing buttons as well as the marks on his neck Thorin had left. He had only been teasing Frodo when he suggested that they were going to make up, but he saw now that he had been right.

"This?" Bilbo asked pulling at the gaping fabric of his clothing and attempting to close it. "I have no idea what you are talking about. Nothing of the sort happened."

"Really?" Bofur asked, with a smirk. "The two of you didn't have a little  _encounter_  on the way home? How then do you explain the state of both of your clothing and the fact that you are both sweaty, dirty and that  _you're_  limping?" Bilbo blushed slightly but was spared from having to answer by Thorin.

"We were at the forge," Thorin said simply, choosing to omit what had happened  _after_. "Forges tend to cause one to be sweaty and dirty."

"And the limp?" Dwalin asked, refusing to let the topic drop. Any fool could see that there was an intimateness between them that hadn't been there when they left. It was clear what had happened, the only question was where.

"And what about his missing buttons?" Balin asked. "You can't tell me that he lost those at the forge. Even you two aren't so bad as to have done it there. Not on Thorin's first day." Bilbo's flush was answer enough. And at the sight of it, the rest of the dwarves bean to laugh. They didn't realize that it hadn't been in the forge proper, but the  _where_  didn't particularly matter.

"Tell us that you were at least discreet about it," Bofur said around his laughter.

"They better have been after the lecture we got about  _talking_ about sex in the market," Dwalin grumbled. "If so much as  _one_ hobbit caught them . . ." It was a baseless threat and they all knew it. Dwalin was more amused than anything else and if Bilbo had been caught in the act by hobbits. . . well perhaps there was some justice in the world after all. Even so, Bilbo and Thorin both looked a bit sheepish at his words.

"Well . . ." Bilbo said slowly, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face, "I  _did_ say that subtlety is not something Thorin is good at." More laughter followed his words, though none of them dared to ask just how many hobbits had caught them. They were just happy that Bilbo seemed to be in a better mood. Dwalin smiled in satisfaction. Perhaps the suggestion that got him in so much trouble with the hobbit earlier had been right. All Bilbo had needed to fix his irrationality was a little  _carnal_  attention from Thorin.

The only person  _not_  laughing was Frodo. Mainly because he was under the table having passed out at the sight of his disheveled uncle and his equally rumpled dwarven lover and their rather frank admittance to having had sex on the way home from the forge. The three dwarves in the know exchanged meaningful glances and wordlessly agreed that they would figure out who deserved credit for this one later


	13. Catching Up, Baths, and Another Bet

After dinner was finished—Frodo having been roused so that he could enjoy his meal while it was still warm—they sat around the table as they had after most meals and traded stories and smoked. This time, however, talk was not about their old adventures, but the more recent developments that would have been the first order of business had Thorin's resurrection not eclipsed them. It had been years since the three of them had visited Bilbo and there was much catching up to do—which was extended even more by Thorin's desire to catch up on everything that he had missed in the last sixty years.

He was especially interested in the fact that Balin—of all people—had grown bored with the quiet life of Erebor and had planned an expedition to reclaim the kingdom of Khazad-dûm from the orcs—an expedition that Dáin had forbidden.

"Why did Dáin forbid it?" Thorin asked, surprise coloring his tone. If Balin had come to him with the request for dwarves for such a task he would have granted it. Balin was a loyal friend and a good leader. If anyone stood a chance of retaking their ancient kingdom it would be him.

"He felt that it was an exercise in folly to waste lives in an attempt to regain a kingdom that had been lost for generations," Balin explained with a shrug. "He said that it had already claimed enough dwarven lives and that even if we  _were_  to succeed—against greater odds even than we had faced against Smaug for Erebor—the City would be in such disrepair that it would be nearly impossible to make hospitable once more. Repairs are  _still_  underway in Erebor and he would not have been able to spare the architects to work in Khazad-dûm."

"Were you angry?" Bilbo asked. He knew that as far as dwarves went Balin was fairly level tempered, but to have his request denied and called folly by someone sitting on a throne of a kingdom that he had originally refused to attempt to recover . . . it had to have rankled.

"Angry?" Dwalin barked out a laugh. "He was furious! Came to me and Glóin and begged us to throw our own weight and influence behind his quest. Claimed that Dáin couldn't stand against us all if we put our minds to it."

"Did you?" Thorin asked, thinking that he already knew the answer as that they were correct. Even though they were distant cousins, they were still kin and if they had all banded together it would have been difficult for Dáin to refuse them, though he still could have,

"No," Balin replied with a grin at his brother. "Their wives intervened. If they had thrown their weight behind my quest they would have had to come along and neither of the women was willing to allow that. Not that I blame Nola. I wouldn't want to take care of his ten whelps alone."

"Ten!?" Thorin and Bilbo said in disbelieving unison. Neither of them could believe it. Ten children was almost unheard of for dwarves. Bilbo was feeling nearly faint at the idea that he had completely miscounted. Dwalin and his family alone made for twelve dwarves, which brought the total count up to eighteen.  _No_ , he mentally corrected,  _Bombur has a wife and at least a couple children_. He looked helplessly at Thorin as he realized that they were talking about moving at least twenty dwarves into the Shire.

But Thorin would be no help. He was as shocked as Bilbo if not more so. He had known that Dwalin had a child—a daughter—but  _ten_  children. That seemed almost excessive.

"Ten?" Thorin repeated, wondering if he had misheard. He had to have misheard or Balin had to be exaggerating for effect.

"Yep," Dwalin replied a smile on his face. "Seven boys and three girls. All strong and with wonderful beards."

"Even the girls?" Frodo asked, feeling so curious that he couldn't help by ask even if the question was a rude one.

"Aye lad," Dwalin replied a proud smile on his face as he bragged about his children. "My girls have fine beards."

"Is that . . . I mean . . . do dwarf women normally—is it not strange for women to have beards?" Frodo stuttered. Bilbo felt sympathy towards the lad. He remembered when he had first found out that dwarf women had beards and his shock—and the company's amusement at his new knowledge. Even so, he still halfway felt that they were having one over on him. He had yet to meet a dwarf woman and see for himself if she had a beard.

"Of course it's normal!" Bofur replied almost indignantly. "No self-respecting dwarf, be they male or female, would be seen without a beard."

"But it's not a  _full_  beard," Frodo pressed. "Not like Balin's, is it?"

"Sometimes," Balin replied stroking his beard proudly. "Other times they shape them or braid them just as the men-folk do. As I recall, Thorin's sister had a thicker beard than he did for quite some time when they were younger."

"She did," Thorin said with a fond smile. "Dís grew a beard at a  _very_  young age. Dark and thick. Our father was so proud of her."

"And then he looked at you," Dwalin teased with a smirk. "How did he feel about his heir having only a bit of fuzz on his face long after his baby sister had a beard?"

"It was more than a bit of fuzz," Thorin replied indignantly looking at Dwalin with a dark expression. "I had a beard, it just wasn't particularly thick."

"It was fuzz," Balin agreed with his brother. "It didn't even cover the skin beneath it."

"It doesn't matter," Bilbo said placing a hand on Thorin's arm. He had heard this argument before and had no desire to get into it again. It only ever ended with hurt feelings and the last time it had taken  _days_ for him to pull Thorin back out of his melancholy and then it had only been accomplished with the aid of his nephews. The dwarves made noises of protest at his assertion that beards did not matter.

"Beards are important!" Bofur said just as Dwalin muttered, "Trust a  _hobbit_  to say that only having fuzz until he was well into his seventies is normal." Balin laughed at his brother's words while Thorin scowled at the both of them.

"Now, now!" Bilbo said holding his hands up as though to demonstrate that he was unarmed, "I _was not_  trying to discount the importance of beards. I was merely saying that it doesn't matter now because he has a fine beard. That was all."

"And how did you become a judge of what constitutes a fine beard, Master Baggins?" Bofur asked with a saucy wink. "Compared to your bare face,  _anything_  is considered a fine beard."

"Perhaps that's true," Bilbo replied with a smirk, "but even without a beard of my own I can recognize a fine one when I see it." He was about to tease Bofur about his own, strangely shaped beard when Thorin changed the topic entirely.

"How is Dís?" Thorin asked suddenly. "After . . . how is she?" At his question all the joy left the room. Dís, Thorin's sister who had lost everything. Her name alone was a sobering thought.

"We don't know," Balin replied honestly, a slight catch in his voice. "She never moved to Erebor. She and a small settlement of dwarves still live in Ered Luin."

"She never . . . Why?" Thorin demanded. Confusion and fury warred to be his dominant emotion. Why would his sister—daughter of Thrain son of Thror—not return to her home kingdom? "Why did she not move home? Dáin would have welcomed her, would he not? He didn't forbid her presence?" His tone had grown steadily darker as he continued speaking. The idea that his cousin would turn away his sister made his blood boil.

"Nothing like that happened, Thorin," Dwalin promised, trying to calm the irate dwarf before something—or someone—ended up broken. "He requested that she come  _many_ times. I myself carried more than one message."

"Then why?" Thorin asked, his anger evaporating and leaving him feeling tired and almost nauseous as he realized that he already knew the answer. It was his fault.

"She couldn't bear it," Balin replied. "I asked her to come as well. She looked at me and even though she said nothing about why she was refusing, I could see it. She couldn't bear to be so near you and the boys and not be able to talk with you." Thorin closed his eyes and clinched his hands on his knees in an attempt to control himself. There would be time to mourn for the consequences of his actions later. This was not the time or the place.

"If it helps," Balin said gently, "she didn't truly see Erebor as 'home'. She told me that much."

"She didn't see it as home?" Thorin asked quietly. How could his sister not see their kingdom as home?

"Thorin, she was only ten when Smaug descended," Balin reminded him. "Most of her life was lived elsewhere. She made a home in Ered Luin. In the end she chose to remain there."

"So she still lives where . . .  _we_  lived?" Thorin asked, the question strangled by the emotion threatening to creep up his throat. The thought of his little sister continuing to live in the same home that she had shared with him and her sons . . . alone. It wasn't right. Dís should not be alone. She should be surrounded by people who love her.  _People I took from her_ , Thorin though bitterly. Thorin couldn't even smile as Bilbo's hand crept into his own, the hobbit seeking to provide him with comfort. In fact it only made things worse. Comfort was something that he felt he did not deserve.

"Aye," Balin agreed, seeming to sense the thoughts that his old friend had left unspoken. There was nothing more that he could say. It had been decades since he had seen Dís, and the last time he had she hadn't been coping well. But Thorin did not need to know that, not with him already taking the blame of it all on himself.

"Perhaps she could be persuaded to move here," Frodo offered. He flinched slightly when there were suddenly five pairs of eyes staring at him. "I mean . . . Bilbo would have to agree, of course, but we do have an extra room and well . . .  _you'll_  be staying here . . . and she's your sister. . . I-I"

"That's a fine idea, Frodo my lad!" Bilbo replied with a wide smile and a grateful nod to his nephew. He may not be pleased about the number of dwarves that were threatening to descend on the Shire, but with what was already coming he couldn't see where one more could hurt. Especially not Thorin's sister. Dís would be welcome in Bag End if she desired to come.

"We'll have to extend her an invitation," Bilbo said looking up at Thorin who shifted uncomfortably. The only way that Dís would accept such an invitation would be if Thorin issued it in person and while he wasn't  _avoiding_  his sister, he didn't really see where it was his right to force her to speak with him if she didn't want to and there was no way to request an audience with her without telling her that he was alive and doing so in a message . . . that would be less appropriate than dropping in on her.

"Perhaps," Thorin replied. "Let's wait to do it until we at least get the settlement started. We don't want to make it seem like her only options are to stay in Ered Luin or move into a hobbit hole with two people she has never met and a brother she has every right to despise."

"We'll need to talk to Dís at any rate," Balin said. "We'll need trade if we are going to set up any kind of a decent forge here. The Blue Mountains can provide that for us and we'll need Dís's approval to manage it."

"Why would that need my sister's approval?" Thorin asked his eyebrows coming together as he spoke. It confused him. Dís was of the line of Durin, and the eldest member still living—it was strange to think that his little sister was now older than him—but women were never in positions of power. Dís could not help them.

"Dís took up residence in your halls and, by merit of your and the boys sacrifice, rules Ered Luin now," Dwalin explained.

Thorin sighed in response. This would only provide one more potential road block to the settlement that they were proposing. He would not blame Dís in the least if she refused to help them once she learned that he was involved. Even though no one had said it, he had no doubt that she hated him. He had taken everything from her.

"Once we get the rest of the details smoothed over I will go and speak with Dís about arranging trade and her potential move to the Shire," Thorin said with a sigh, his tone almost sounding defeated. "If that's all for the night, I'm tired and would like to go to bed. I will see you all in the morning." When no one said anything, Thorin stood slowly, his swirling emotions making him feel more exhausted than he had ever felt in his life.

"Thorin Oakenshield, that is very well  _not_  all," Bilbo snapped hopping up from the table and grabbing the dwarf by the arm. Thorin looked at the hobbit wearily, his sadness burring in his eyes and causing Bilbo's own to fill with tears at the sight of it.

"What more do you want from me?" Thorin asked defeat clear in his tone and no heat behind the words. Bilbo's heart broke for the dwarf that he loved. He had never seen Thorin like this, there was such sadness there. He had seen rage, determination, regret, longing, but never abject sadness.

"If you think that you're getting into my bed as filthy as you are, you have to rethink that idea," Bilbo said, trying to sound like a disapproving lover by failing due to the emotion choking the words. "You need a bath."

"Bilbo, if you think that I am walking down to the creek in the middle of the night for a cold wash down—" Thorin said, his tone dark. He would not be told to bathe like a dwarfling. Not when all he wanted to do was curl into a ball and weep like one.

"Don't be absurd!" Bilbo scoffed, gently pulling on Thorin's arm and leading him down the hall to the bathroom. "It'll be a warm bath. Hobbit's aren't barbarians!" Thorin sighed but allowed the hobbit to lead him away. Even if he didn't deserve comfort, the idea of a warm bath was appealing.

Even once they left the room, the conversation did not return to normal, nor did the atmosphere lighten. Those that remained sat in silence for a time, staring into the dying embers of the fire questioning for the first time if the settlement was worth the pain that it would cause both Thorin and Dís.

"Are you sure this is a good idea," Bofur asked glancing at the other two, his usual humor gone from his eyes and his face.

"No," Balin replied. "I hadn't thought about what this will do to Dís. Perhaps we should rethink it."

"Why?" Dwalin asked sharply. "She will find out that Thorin is alive eventually. And as this sharp lad pointed out," he ruffled Frodo's curly hair affectionately, earning him a glare from the hobbit that caused the others to laugh quietly, "Thorin is going to live here regardless of what we do. Do we truly intend to abandon him to endure alone the prudish hobbit customs?"

"Besides," Dwalin continued, "Thorin can't avoid Dís forever. He'll eventually have to face her and this gives him an excuse. Even if you two are too intimidated to live among hobbits and back out, me and mine will be coming to live in the Shire."

"Are you implying that we're too cowardly to live here?" Bofur asked, his humor returning to his eyes at the slight. He had faced orc, trolls and even joined a quest knowing that there would be a dragon at the end. He was no coward and Dwalin knew it.

"Aye," Dwalin replied with a smirk. "What of it? Will you prove me wrong?"

"Oh yes," Bofur replied rising to the challenge with a laugh. "I'll move here and even manage to integrate myself with the hobbits in ways you can't even imagine!"

"Is that so?" Dwalin asked. "Are you implying that I couldn't make hobbit friends if I wanted them?"

"Perhaps," Bofur replied with a smirk of his own. "Care to take a wager on it?"

"On what?" Dwalin demanded.

"I bet that before the first year is out, I will have more hobbits willing to call me a friend that you," Bofur replied his tone challenging.

"I'll take that bet," Dwalin replied a predatory smile on his face. "On  _one_ condition: children do not count."

"Now wait just one moment!" Bofur protested. He had been counting on his toys to win over the hobbit children to his side. Eliminating them from the reckoning was unfair.

"You may as well help me with the dishes, laddie," Balin said turning to face Frodo with a wry smile on his face. "Now that those two have gotten started they will be at it all night and we would be best to get any fragile projectiles out of range. I doubt your uncle would appreciate Bofur breaking his plates on my brother's hard head."

"If their fighting shouldn't we—"

"Mahal no!" Balin said with a laugh. "I would rather face down a dragon in naught but my smallclothes and brandishing one of your uncle's flowers than get in the middle of that. Don't worry," he added seeing Frodo's apprehensive expression—one that didn't entirely have to do with the arguing dwarves in the dining room. "They won't actually hurt one another."

Even with Balin's reassurances that no blood would be shed, Frodo couldn't help but feel a bit of discomfort at the raised voices that were coming from the two dwarves as they tried to iron out the terms of their contest. He gave a small snort of laughter at the thought of the poor hobbits that would be unwitting participants in their games and thanked the Valar that he was not in  _their_  position.


	14. Guilt and the Past

Bilbo looked over his shoulder anxiously at Thorin. He had sat the dwarf on a bench against the wall while he busied himself lighting a fire under the copper water tank in the corner. Thanks to his parents, and his own small fortune, Bilbo had luxuries that others didn't and one of these was a hot-water tank. He had never been forced to heat water on the hearth and move it to the tub one container at a time (though he wasn't entirely sure that his way was any faster) all he had to do was light a fire under the tank and wait for the water to heat. Usually this was a luxury that he loved, but tonight he almost would have welcomed the extra work since it would have given him an excuse not to look at Thorin.

His lover seemed broken. So sad and almost lost. Bilbo had never seen him that way and it broke his heart. Thorin had seated himself sideways on the bench and was leaning against the wall, his head resting there as well as though he lacked the energy to hold it up. His hands rested limply on his lap where Bilbo had placed them. But it was his eyes that hurt Bilbo the most. His blue eyes, usually so expressive, were dead as he stared at the floor. If it wasn't for the fact that his eyes were open, Bilbo would almost have thought that he was sleeping. As it was, only the steady rise and fall of his chest showed that he wasn't, in fact, dead. And Bilbo couldn't stand it. But with the water heating and all the other bath supplies gathered in the room already, Bilbo could delay no longer and walked over to the disconsolate dwarf.

"Thorin?" Bilbo asked quietly. The dwarf didn't even react to his own name. "Hey," Bilbo tried again, his voice still quiet. When he still received no reply, he reached out and attempted to gently stroke the side of his lover's face with the back of his index finger. Thorin made a small noise of protest and turned his face further away from Bilbo, his eyes closed tightly. With a sad sigh, Bilbo stepped forward and cradled the dwarf's head carefully against his chest, continuously stroking the raven tresses with the hand not holding him in place.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bilbo offered, knowing what the answer would be before he asked the question. Thorin would not want to talk about it. He wanted to brood and engage in self-flagellation for things that had happened long ago and that he had no control over. Even so, he felt that he should put the offer out there.

"No," Thorin replied, the word a whisper that was almost lost in the sound of heating metal coming from behind them. Bilbo nodded, a small sad smile on his lips. He had known as much.

"Is this about Dís?" Bilbo asked not missing the way that Thorin flinched at his sister's name. "I don't know why you're so worried. I believe that she will be overjoyed to see you. Though I'm not sure that she will want to move here, despite all the reasons that she would. Sometimes I think the Valar themselves couldn't pry you dwarves from your mountains."

"A dragon managed it well enough," Thorin replied darkly. Now it was Bilbo's turn to flinch. He hadn't thought about how Thorin might take that statement. In a normal mood, his lover would have let that fact slide, but once he was in the melancholies . . . anything that could lead to a depressing memory did. Even his nephews hadn't been able to make him smile when he fell into one of these funks, though they did always manage to pull him back out. Now it was up to Bilbo.

"True," Bilbo replied his voice tight as he agreed and tried to cheer Thorin by reminding him that it hadn't been taken forever. "But you managed to take it back. You won." It backfired. Rather than agree, Thorin scoffed, a bitter sound.

"Yes," Thorin finally said, his voice choked with emotion. "We managed to take it back. We accomplished the impossible: A dragon was slain, a treasure and a home reclaimed, the greater part of the orcs and goblins of the Misty Mountains wiped out and an alliance, of sorts, forged with  _elves_! But we  _did not_  win."

"How can it be a victory when . . . " Thorin trailed off pulling away to look up at the hobbit with tears in his blue eyes, "when  _they_  died? They were too young, Bilbo. I never . . . I should never . . . it's  _my_  fault. If I hadn't been so . . . so  _determined_  to reclaim a kingdom and wealth . . . I . . . I could have been happy. I  _should_  have been happy."

"I had everything I needed," Thorin continued, self-loathing filling his words. Rather than say anything, Bilbo let the dwarf continue to talk. Thorin needed to say this and Bilbo knew that if he so much as moved, Thorin would stop.

"I had a family. I had a home. I had a forge. It wasn't an easy life, but we could have lived well, even if I couldn't provide for Dís and the boys as I had wanted to. But between us, Dís and I made enough that we could live comfortably. But I was greedy. I wanted  _more_!

"I wasn't content to live the life of a normal dwarf," Thorin said, his tone bitter as he detailed his flaws. "I was the son of Thráin, son of Thror, rightful heir of Erebor. There was no reason that I should be reduced to  _working_  for food. If I took to the forge it should be because I wanted to, not because I had to! My pride killed them."

"No," Bilbo cut in reaching for Thorin once more. He knew that he had told himself that he would let Thorin talk it out, but he couldn't let that statement go unanswered. It hadn't been Thorin's pride that killed the boys, it had been goblins. Thorin wasn't to blame.

"You don't know," Thorin snapped knocking Bilbo's hands away from him. "You weren't there! Their entire lives I told them tales of the bravery and greatness of the line of Durin and tried to lead by example. I criticized them for their shortcomings. I know that's why they did what they did. They wanted to make me proud. I . . . I never told them . . . even if they had run from battle . . . I . . . I would have still been proud of them. They could never have disappointed me, not really. I  _loved_  those boys like they were my own children. And I never told them. Not once." As he had spoken, his anger had evaporated and his voice dropped to a mournful whisper as he though on the wrongs he had done to his nephews.

"They knew," Bilbo said, drawing the now weeping dwarf into his arms. "They knew. Everyone knew. It was there, in the way that you looked at them." Bilbo paused and a small sad laugh bubbled up his lips before he continued. "It was even there in the way you yelled at them. We could see that the anger came not from disappointment—as it had with me—but from fear for them. They knew that you loved them."

"And I killed them," Thorin said pulling away once more to curl up on himself.

"You—"

"I did!" he snapped. "If I hadn't wanted to retake that  _damn_  mountain from a  _dragon_  they would never have been there to die! If I could have just been content with what I had and not lusted for more, they would still be in Ered Luin with their mother not buried under the stone. Or if I had just been stronger, resisted when Dís insisted that if I took Fíli I had to take Kíli as well, then at least one of them would still be there for her."

"She's been alone, Bilbo," Thorin said looking at the hobbit once more, his eyes holding immeasurable sadness, though the tears were gone. "Sixty years. She's been alone because I led her boys to their deaths. She won't want to see me and I don't blame her. I wouldn't want to see me."

"I wanted to see you," Bilbo said, his voice sad and soft. "You personally tried to kill me and I still wanted to see you. I think you underestimate how much you mean to people. She may be angry with you, but as you said, she's been alone. I think that seeing family again will temper her anger." The look on Thorin's face clearly said that Bilbo didn't know his sister, or dwarves in general, if he thought that was true but his retort was broken off as a hiss came from the tank behind them. The water was hot.

"Enough of this," Bilbo said briskly, clapping his hands and trying to force cheer back into the room. "Off with your clothes now. It's time to clean you up." Thorin gave him a small laugh in reply and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"So eager to get me naked, hobbit?" Thorin asked though it was clear that the humor was forced. "I thought that we took care of that need." Even as he spoke, he allowed Bilbo to take his wrist and help pull him to his feet.

"For a bit, yes," Bilbo replied, a sly smile on his lips. Thorin joking, however poorly, was the first sign that the melancholy would break shortly. This had to be a record. Usually they lasted much longer.

"A bit?" Thorin asked in surprise and his shirt was pulled over his head. Bilbo had been nearly insatiable when he was younger, always eager to try something new—sometimes things that caused Thorin to be a bit squeamish, hobbits may be prudish, but once they have been unleashed, they had more than a bit of kink to them (or at least Bilbo did). Even so, he was sixty years older and  _should_  have mellowed some in his old age, or so Thorin had believed.

"I have sixty years of pent up frustration you need to deal with," Bilbo replied as he casually ran a hand over Thorin's bare flesh, the gesture affectionate but not necessarily sexual, before moving around the room. Even so, it caused the dwarf to shiver at the promise in those words and that touch. Sixty years was a long time to bottle up sexual frustration. The dwarf could only hope that he could keep up. He wasn't as young as he used to be. But then again, neither was Bilbo. It was sometimes easy for him to forget that Bilbo was no longer fifty; the hobbit looked exactly as he had while they were questing. There was a sadness there that hadn't been, but physically he was the same. That thought startled Thorin. Bilbo was the same. But during the quest he had told Thorin that hobbits only lived to be about a hundred. It made no sense. How was he unchanged in all that time? There should have been some change in him other than sadness.

"—Don't know what temperature you like your water," Bilbo was saying not realizing that Thorin had not heard the first of his words. "You'll have to come run it yourself."

"Bilbo," Thorin said suddenly as confusion momentarily overrode grief, "your birthday, how old will you be?"

"I thought you dwarves were good with numbers," Bilbo scoffed. "I'll be 111. Why?"

"You told me once that hobbits only live to be around a hundred?" Thorin said, his tone turning the statement into a question as he wondered if he had misheard. Perhaps Bilbo said two hundred. That would make more sense.

"We do," Bilbo said absently. "Now come run your water." Thorin sighed but complied with Bilbo's order. "This one's for hot and this one's for cold," Bilbo explained and left his lover to adjust the water to his liking while he gathered the bathing supplies to the tub.

"But if hobbits only live to be a hundred, shouldn't you be . . . older?" Thorin said desperately, looking absently down at the water and holding a finger under it to gauge the temperature.  _No,_ his mind added brutally.  _He shouldn't be older, he should be dead._

"Are you objecting to my youthful appearance?" Bilbo asked suddenly, a laugh on his lips. "I can go find you an older hobbit if that's what you desire."

"That's not what I was saying," Thorin replied, slightly exasperated with the hobbit for even suggesting a replacement. "I was merely commenting on your unnatural preservation. What caused it?" Even as he spoke, the answer came to him. The Valar, they must have granted Bilbo a longer lifespan than was normal to give them more time together. It was an unexpected blessing, though he did wonder why they had waited sixty years to bring him back. Perhaps there was more to their act of kindness than he suspected.

"I don't know," Bilbo replied with a shrug. "Perhaps spending so too much time with stubborn dwarves. Something may have rubbed off."

"That's not how these things work," Thorin replied with a laugh. "Spending time with the wonderful creatures that are dwarves will not imbue you with our traits. Though there are a couple you would have been blessed to acquire."

"Like a beard?" Bilbo replied, reaching around Thorin to turn off the water.

"Never," Thorin replied fervently, stroking Bilbo's face. "I cannot imagine you with a beard. I like that I can see every twitch of your mouth as you think. A beard would only hinder that. You are perfect just as you are."

"Did I just hear you say that a beard would be a bad thing?" Bilbo purred. Even now, and even towards him, complements from Thorin were rare and he reveled in having received one.

"Perhaps," Thorin replied before stepping into the tub. "However, if you attempt to tell any of the others, I will deny it. No self-respecting dwarf can be known to have said anything derogatory about beards."

"I won't tell a soul," Bilbo promised as he began attempting to help Thorin divest his skin of the grime that it had acquired. "Just like I never told anyone about that other thing."

"Which other thing?" Thorin asked curious as to which one in particular Bilbo was referring to. There had been many, including his fascination with Bilbo's pointed ears—something no self-respecting dwarf could admit to due to their association with elves.

"Exactly," Bilbo replied, his hands moving to unclasp the braids in Thorin's hair so that it could be properly washed. Thorin almost sighed at the feeling of Bilbo's fingers in his hair. He had missed this: this closeness. Even if part of him resented being bathed like a dwarfling, the rest of him enjoyed the careful, nearly reverent, attention Bilbo paid to his body in a non-sexual way. They had never had time for this during the quest and he found that he liked it.

**ooOO88OOoo**

In the kitchen, Bofur and Dwalin had finally gotten all the details ironed out for their contest and had shook on it. Despite Frodo's fears no blood had been shed and no truly vile words had been exchanged. Once everything was figured out, it blew over as though nothing had been said and talk turned back to plans for the future and memories of the past.

"Do you really have ten children?" Frodo asked suddenly. He had been sitting quietly just listening to their conversation. Despite their lewdness, he could understand why his uncle liked the dwarves. They truly were a fun group.

"Aye, lad," Dwalin replied to the groans of the others. Dwalin could talk for days about his children.

"And only three of them are girls?" Frodo asked, knowing that he had made a mistake with his question when sadness settled lightly on the company once again.

"Aye," Dwalin agreed. "Only three are girls."

"Hey, that's something," Bofur replied. "Bombur only has boys."

"Why is that?" Frodo asked. He may not have known about sex, but he did know that families tended to have a fairly even mix of boys and girls.

"We're not sure," Balin replied. "Dwarf babes tend to be male. Almost seven boys to one girl. No one know why, but if a dwarf couple is expecting a babe, it is a safe bet that it will be a boy."

"So is that why Thorin and Uncle Bilbo . . ."

"No, lad," Balin said gently. "They love one another. It has nothing to do with a shortage of women. I won't say that it didn't contribute to our acceptance of it, two men living together is not uncommon among dwarves, but it is not the cause of it."

"Does it bother you, seeing them together?" Bofur asked, even though the hobbit's continual fainting almost answered the question for him. He wondered how Bilbo felt knowing that his happiness made his kin uncomfortably. Perhaps that was why he had been so touchy about the subject of his relationship with Thorin.

"No-Yes-no . . . I don't know," Frodo replied honestly. "The idea of two males . . . it makes no sense. But . . . they seem so happy together. I've never seen Uncle so happy. I know that he's been behaving oddly today, but he's happier than he's been in twelve years. I think Thorin is good for him."

"You're uncle was good for Thorin as well," Dwalin replied. "Before they paired off, Thorin was . . . bitter, angry. He hated life and . . . he was a hard man. Bilbo changed him for the better, even if he had a reversion at the end."

"What happened?" Frodo asked. "At the end, I mean. I heard a bit of the argument they had, I thought I heard Uncle say that Thorin tried to kill him but—"

"He did," Bofur replied cutting Frodo off. "After the dragon was killed and we were in the mountain . . . has Bilbo ever told you this?"

"I know that there was a battle, that's all that I know," Frodo replied. "He always rushed that part of the story. It was almost like he didn't want to talk about it but knew that he had to to finish it."

"He didn't. Because . . . well . . . it wasn't . . . it was bad," Balin said with a sigh. "Bard, the man that killed Smaug, and the Elf King of Mirkwood came and demanded a portion of the treasure for helping us. Thorin . . . he . . . well he—"

"He'd gone mad," Dwalin cut in. "Only we didn't see it at the time. We didn't see the change in him as anything more than pride. We didn't realize that it was the gold madness that had claimed his grandfather."

"But Bilbo knew," Bofur said, taking up the thread. "He—the brave little thing—saw that Thorin had lost his mind and tried to force him to negotiate with the others by giving them the one treasure that Thorin desired above all others as a bargaining piece."

"The Arkenstone," Balin said, spitting the name like a curse. "The damn thing drove Thror to madness and almost took Thorin as well. And when Thorin found out what Bilbo had done . . . he . . . he—"

"Threatened to throw your uncle off the mountain," Bofur added, his voice tight as he relived the memory. "His own lover. His mate." At the words, he saw Frodo start. Even though he had heard it a couple of times now, the hobbit hadn't really believed it. Thorin, he didn't seem violent. How could he have threatened to kill Bilbo?

"Had him dangled over the side and everything," Dwalin said, not looking at Frodo as he spoke.

"What stopped him?" Frodo asked. "Did he stop on his own?" He hoped that was the answer. He couldn't reconcile the nice dwarf he knew with the image of an angry mad dwarf holding his uncle out to dash him to his death.

"No. Gandalf intervened," Balin said. "We all wanted to. Thorin's youngest nephew had to be restrained, but Thorin was mad, blinded by greed and betrayal. In the end, we watched as Bilbo left, saw the pain in Thorin as he crumpled. I saw him reach out a couple of times as if he would call Bilbo back, but he never did."

"He spent the night alone. Fíli and Kíli sat with him, trying to convince him to make peace and forgive Bilbo, but he ignored them, lost in his own misery," Dwalin said. "It was clear that he wanted to. The next day, however, the battle broke. Five armies met that day. Of our fourteen, only Thorin and the boys were lost."

"Your uncle," Bofur said sadly. "That day he lost everything that mattered to him. It was everything that we could do to get him to eat. He had lost his lover and two of his best friends on the same day. He got to speak briefly with Thorin, but the boys . . . they were already gone. He never got to say goodbye to them, none of us did."

"When he left to come home, we never thought to see him again," Balin replied. "I didn't think that he would make the winter but he did. He coped fairly well, though it was clear that he was brokenhearted still."

"Then you came along," Dwalin said ruffling Frodo's hair again. "And there was life in him again. Whether or not you know it, you helped. You gave him something to care about and a reason to live."

"But if Thorin tried to kill him, why are they still together?" Frodo asked choosing to not dwell on what Dwalin had just said in favor of leaning more about his uncle.

"You'll have to ask them," Bofur replied. "I can't speak for Bilbo's mind on that one. I can't say that I would have made the same choice and I can't explain it for you. If you want to know, you'll have to ask Bilbo." Frodo looked hopefully at the others and saw the same refusal there that Bofur had voiced. With a sigh, Frodo resigned himself to never knowing why Bilbo had forgiven Thorin. He wouldn't ask.

"I think I'm going to turn in for the night. It's been a full day," Frodo said suddenly heading for his room. He couldn't cope with the revelation that had just happened in light of everything else. How had he already grown fond of someone that had tried to  _kill_  his uncle? He just wanted to be left alone with his thoughts.

"You don't want to do that, lad," Bofur said flinching slightly at the glare Frodo leveled at him, his blue eyes icy. "With Thorin being upset and them being intimate again, the warning from last night applies more than ever. We might even be better off to go to the inn tonight rather than just sleep in the living room."

"I will not be evicted from my own room!" Frodo snapped, sounding more like Bilbo than he knew. "If they cannot keep their hands to themselves I will invest in some earplugs. Good night!" With that said he turned on his heel and stormed from the room having had more than enough of dwarves for one day.

As they heard the door slam behind him—with much less force than a dwarf would have used but more than any respectable hobbit would—the remaining dwarves hoped that Bilbo and Thorin were at least quiet about what would happen that night. They knew that the lad was just upset enough to try to yell at them.

"Are we sure that he's all hobbit?" Bofur asked suddenly, thinking about the icy glare he had just been given. Perhaps it was the color, but he could have sworn that he had seen the same look from Thorin before. The others just looked at him like he was crazy, of course the lad was all hobbit, and talk returned to other matters once again.


	15. Madness, a Riddle and Braids

They needn't have feared for Frodo's virgin ears that night. It had been a long day. Between the disastrous trip to the market, Dwalin and Bilbo's fight, Thorin's evening at the forge and consequent romp with Bilbo (and Bilbo's resulting soreness), in addition to all the emotional turmoil of the day, neither of them was feeling particularly amorous. Instead, they crawled into bed, not bothering to dress after their baths, and lay together. Both of them drawing reassurance that things would work out from the feeling of the other's warm body just being there. That night it was not fluids that were exchanged between them, but something much more intangible but no less special: comfort.

The next morning found them as many others had, Thorin on his back with Bilbo curled up against his side and his head on the dwarf's chest. The dwarf smiled. It seemed that no matter how they fell asleep this was how they always ended up. He took the hand that wasn't pinned by Bilbo and brushed the hobbit's longish curls away from his face. He still couldn't believe that it had been sixty years. Bilbo looked just the same as he had the last time that they had woken up together. His hair was still longer than it had been the first time that they had met (more the length that it had grown to during the quest) and in sleep, the sadness was gone from his face. If it wasn't for the round windows and hobbit-sized furniture, Thorin could have almost convinced himself that they were in Laketown.

He stroked the hobbit again and was rewarded by a contented sound in his throat and Bilbo moving closer, though Thorin hadn't thought that it was possible. The dwarf was suddenly glad that they weren't in Laketown. Even there, mornings had come early and there had been no time for lazing in bed. He had woken Bilbo as soon as the sun was up and they had begun the day. He enjoyed being able to stay in bed and watch his hobbit sleep. He smiled down fondly at Bilbo as his fingers threaded through his curls and he wondered idly how the hobbit would react to waking with courting braids in his hair once more. Almost as soon as the thought had crossed his mind, he received his answer.

"Thorin Oakenshild," Bilbo muttered sleepily, his hazel eyes still closed, "if you are putting braids in my hair I  _swear_  that I will bite you."

"I have done nothing of the sort," Thorin replied, with a small laugh. "Not yet at any rate. Though if you continue to sleep . . ."

"I will not consent to being braided," Bilbo said opening an eye and glaring up at the dwarf. "Not again."

"On the quest—"

"That was different," Bilbo argued. "It only made sense to allow you to braid my hair out of my eyes. I didn't want to die, after all. There is no such danger in the Shire. You will not braid my hair."

"What if it was only a  _little_  braid? Not very intricate with only  _one_  little blue bead?" Thorin asked attempting to reach a compromise. He hadn't realized it before Bilbo had forbade it, but he missed seeing Bilbo wearing his braids where everyone could see them and know what they meant. He missed having Bilbo marked as his.

"I said no," Bilbo replied his voice hard. He didn't understand why Thorin was being so pushy with the braids. He knew that the dwarf had always loved his hair and knew what braids meant to them. He also knew that he didn't want a braid. He wasn't sure why, but some deep part of him rebelled against the thought of being marked in such a fashion. It almost didn't sound like his voice, but he knew that it had to be. Who else would be in his head? Perhaps it was the long-suppressed Baggins side of his personality refusing to give up the last thing that truly made him a hobbit, the last shred of his respectability—which had admittedly been lost the night before but would only be further tarnished when he stepped out of the house in  _braids_.

"Not even—"

"Why are you insisting on this!?" Bilbo snapped, sitting up to glare at the dwarf. Thorin flinched at the anger and madness there. Especially over so little a thing as a braid. He didn't understand why a braid would cause the madness to flare but he instantly regretted bringing it up. He would remember to avoid the topic of braids in the future. He wouldn't do anything to exacerbate the situation and speed Bilbo's final descent into madness.

"Hush," he whispered, pulling the struggling hobbit against him and fighting back tears once more. This was too much. "Hush. I am sorry. So sorry. I won't bring it up again. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm so very sorry."

He wasn't actually apologizing for the braid topic, but rather for the fact that Bilbo was losing his mind and there was nothing that he could do to help him. His thoughts the night before came flooding back to him and he realized that perhaps  _this_  was the Valar's goal. He had never heard of them being cruel, but it would make sense. Punish Thorin by making him believe that he was going to get everything that he ever wanted, keep Bilbo the same to make it all the more realistic, but delay their meeting by sixty years so that Bilbo had already gone mad from his grief and leave Thorin to deal with the consequences of his actions. It was cruel and such a fit punishment. It all added up. This was his punishment for the pain he had caused in his life.

As Bilbo began to calm once more, he realized that he had hurt Thorin's feelings. The dwarf hadn't said anything, but it was there. In the stiffness of his arms, the harshness of his breathing. Bilbo had hurt him, over  _nothing_. His respectability had been gone for sixty years. What was a braid going to do to it that going on an adventure and bedding a dwarf hadn't already? He was being irrational again. It worried him. This had never happened before, only since Thorin had returned. Why was he reacting this way?

"I did it again, didn't I?" Bilbo asked suddenly, his voice small and frightened. "Lost myself over nothing."

"You did," Thorin agreed allowing Bilbo to move away from him now that it was clear that he was back to normal. His tear-filled hazel eyes were also filled with fear and confusion.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo cried his voice so helpless and small that Thorin wanted to scream his frustration to the heavens. "I don't know . . . Thorin, what's wrong with me? I don't understand it. Such little things, Dwalin, the hobbits in the market, and now a  _braid_! A  _ **braid**_  of all things! There's nothing wrong with braids. I wore them for months! You've worn them for  _years_. Why would a braid upset me? What's wrong with me?"

As he looked into Bilbo's eyes, so full of despair and yet hope that Thorin could fix it, the dwarf felt his heart break. He pulled his hobbit to him with a hard swallow, trying to fight back his own tears and failing. This was too cruel. It was too much. It might be less than he deserved, but he couldn't bear this. There had to be a way to help Bilbo overcome the madness. He couldn't bear to watch him dragged into it kicking and screaming. His pain gave him determination. Bilbo would not succumb to this if he could do anything about it. He had watched his grandfather, and then his father taken by it. He himself had given in, but it  _would not_  happen to Bilbo. Bilbo would not be lost to it.

He pulled back to look at Bilbo, pity in his eyes. The hobbit looked up at him, surprise filling his eyes as he realized that Thorin knew what was wrong with him. He knew and he wouldn't tell. Suddenly rage was back. He wasn't sure where it had come from, but it was there and thirsting for blood. Be it physical or emotional, it didn't care. It wanted to see pain. And with Thorin, Bilbo knew how to cause it.

"You know, don't you?" Bilbo demanded harshly crawling out of bed to glare down at the dwarf. "YOU KNOW! You know and you won't tell me! Why won't you tell me?"

"Do you truly want to know?" Thorin asked quietly. "I can tell you but I do not believe that you will like the answer."

"Tell me," Bilbo hissed, his face inches from Thorin's and his eyes wide with that feral light shining within them. "Tell me what's wrong with me."

"It's madness," Thorin said, emotion choking the words. Somehow saying them aloud made the situation all the more real. Bilbo was going mad. "You're losing your mind."

"Madness?" Bilbo spat. "Just like what affected you?"

"No," Thorin argued. "This isn't gold-madness. But it is madness. I've seen enough of it in my lifetime to recognize it. When it hits you, you are not yourself. You lose yourself to the anger, just as I did."

"Just as you did?" Bilbo snapped all of his anger and unresolved resentment coming to the surface. He may be losing control of himself, but he still had all his memories and his sharp tongue—only made sharper by the lack of scruples the madness brought. The madness saw its opportunity to cause pain and it took it.

"Tell me," Bilbo said his tone conversational, his head tilted and a cruel smile on his face, "If I was to try to kill you in one of these bouts of madness, what would you do? Would you let me, as I almost let you? Not that I really had a choice. I couldn't win against you. I never stood a chance. If Gandalf hadn't have interfered you would have succeeded. I could have begged you, but it wouldn't have worked. I would have died, my pleas in your ears and my screams the last thing you heard. I would have died knowing that  _you_  had taken my life."

"Stop this!" Thorin snapped his heart breaking at the thought of that outcome. He knew that it wasn't actually Bilbo saying such cruel things to him, but it looked like him, sounded like him. He also knew that the thoughts had to be there for the madness to bring them out. Bilbo had thought through this before. And it was his fault that he had it to think through. That thought hurt almost more than the words.

"Did you know that I had bruises for nearly a month from where you grabbed me?" Bilbo asked his voice deceptively calm and the same cruel light in his eyes. "That the next day, during the battle, my arms ached so much where you had held them to shake me that I could barely use my sword? If it wasn't for my Ring I never would have survived. I would have  _died_  because of what you did to me."

"Please, Bilbo, stop this!" Thorin pleaded, his breath coming in pants as the hobbit's words tore at his already fragile soul. He had known that he had to have left bruises on Bilbo but he didn't realize that they had been so bad. He had never touched his hobbit that way before that day. He had always known that if he was not careful he would break Bilbo, with his small bones and thin skin, and so he had always been careful. To know that his treatment of Bilbo had almost resulted in his death not once by twice . . . it was too much.

"Not until you answer my questions!" Bilbo replied the sharp tone back. "Did you know and would you let me do it?"

"I knew," Thorin answered figuring that since pleading with him was not working perhaps giving him what he wanted would snap him out of it. "Not how long they lasted or how bad they were, but I knew there would be bruises. At the time I enjoyed knowing that I had caused them. That you would suffer at least a little for the betrayal you had committed against me. I regretted them almost instantly. I should never have done it. You meant me no harm."

"And the other question," Bilbo demanded, his smile widening at the sadness in Thorin's tone. "Would you let me take your life?"

"There is nothing for you to take, my burglar," Thorin replied with a sad, loving smile. "My life is yours to do with as you will." He bent to retrieve Sting from the top of the chest at the foot of the bed and unsheathed it before handing it hilt first to Bilbo and tilting his head and moving his hair to bear his throat for the hobbit's blade.

"If my death would please you," Thorin said his voice little more than a whisper as he looked at the hobbit levelly, "I will not resist you. Kill me. Kill me if that's what you want." Bilbo eyed his throat hungrily and for a moment, Thorin thought that he might do it, but then the feral light faded and  _his_  Bilbo was back, staring at him with horror in his eyes.

The sword clattered to the ground where Bilbo stood staring at it as though it were a viper. He was gasping for air and sobbing. With a loud cry of anguish he sank to his knees. Thorin moved from the bed to kneel beside him and tried to draw Bilbo into an embrace. When the hobbit resisted, Thorin didn't press him. Instead he sat there and waited for Bilbo to calm.

"Would you actually have let me do it?" Bilbo asked eventually, his voice hoarse from his cries and his hazel eyes filled with pain. "Would you have let me kill you?"

"Yes," Throin replied. "You are the only person in this world that I have wronged as much as I have you. Even what happened to Dís was not truly as bad. I owe you my life, both for you having saved it and for almost taking yours in a fit of rage. If you truly desired my life, you could have it."

"No!" Bilbo snapped, anger but not madness in the word. His eyes were still his own. "You are not to think like that, Thorin Oakenshield! I'm  _ **not**_  allowed to kill you! And if I do try, in one of those fits of . . . madness" he shuddered at the word, "you are to  _stop_  me. I know that you can. You can stop me without even hurting me. You're infinitely stronger than I am and you are to do it! If I try to kill you, STOP ME!"

"Bilbo—"

"Don't you 'Bilbo' me!" the hobbit snapped. "I don't want you dead. Not the  _me_ me. I have wanted you alive and beside me for more than sixty years. Please," here his voice became softer and his eyes filled with tears once more, " _Please_  don't allow me to take your life. I couldn't live with myself if I did it. Promise me that you won't let me do it."

Thorin sighed but said nothing. He wanted to make that promise, he did, but . . . death was such an appealing option at this point. Life was so hard, painful even. He had made too many mistakes, caused too much pain. It would just be easier if . . .

"Thorin," Bilbo growled, grabbing the dwarf's chin and forcing him to look at him, "don't even think about it. You do not get to die on me. Not again. Not this time. I understand it. I really do. When you died I wanted to follow you . . . but I didn't and you managed to follow me. Don't throw it away. What happened to the stubborn dwarf that led a rag-tag band of misfits on a quest to reclaim a mountain from a dragon despite the odds against him?"

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. Thorin had shown rather suicidal tendencies on the quest and reminding him of them now would probably not be good. With a cynical laugh Bilbo realized that Thorin actually had very poor self-preservation instincts, between his stunt on the mountain side, to the  _idiotic_  exploit with Azog, and the  _war_  he got them involved in. It was a miracle that he had lived as long as he did if that was the kind of behavior he had habitually engaged in. Thorin, who extensively planned most things, had a very bad habit of letting his body act of its own accord when his emotions rose or others needed protecting. His mind brought forward a vivid memory of Fíli and Kíli diving into a swollen river after ponies and nearly drowning in the process and he amended his thought. It wasn't a trait singular to Thorin but shared in the entire line of Durin. It was no wonder that so few of them survived to old age. But Thorin missed Bilbo's dark bit of reasoning.

"I did, didn't I?" Thorin asked with a laugh. "And I made my way out of death itself to be with you. It would be foolish of me to give it up. I promise you, Bilbo, I will not allow you to kill me, even in one of your fits of rage. Nothing will separate us, not even ourselves."

Bilbo nodded, hearing the determination in Thorin's words and knowing that he meant them. And now that Thorin was determined to survive, Bilbo could turn to other matters.

"About what I said earlier," Bilbo began, "I just want to say—"

"Don't," Thorin replied, placing a hand on Bilbo's cheek. "You don't have to apologize. It wasn't actually you who said it. It was the madness talking. At any rate, even had you been the one to say them you wouldn't need to apologize. I was the one who . . . who . . . who tried to kill you." His last words sounded strangled as he had forced them past his lips. "For that, I deserve any harsh words you have for me. I know that I can never make it up to you however—"

"Stop," Bilbo said gently, placing a finger over Thorin's lips to silence him. "Stop. I have heard all of this before. I have no desire to hear it again. I would not punish you forever for what you did. I won't tell you that it didn't hurt, both physically and emotionally, but . . . we can't keep going back to it. I know that this time I was the one that brought it up, but . . . we  _both_  need to move on."

"How can you—" Bilbo silenced the dwarf with a gentle kiss. When he pulled back a gentle smile was on his face.

"If you can agree to let me kill you when I'm in a fit of madness, I think that I can forgive you for trying to kill me when you were in one, don't you?" Bilbo said, his smile still in place. "Now come, let's get your braids back in. A king—"

"Ex-King," Thorin corrected with a smile of his own.

"Either way," Bilbo continued his smile only widening, "the great Thorin Oakenshield of the line of Durin can't be seen in public without his hair properly dressed. Even if he  _is_  only going to work as a blacksmith." Thorin laughed and moved back to the bed as Bilbo began the process of redoing all of Thorin's various braids. Once he was done, he reached timidly into a drawer beside his bed.

"No, Bilbo," Thorin said with a laugh, thinking that he knew  _exactly_ what Bilbo had just done. They had just had a fight, then expressed tenderness, Bilbo was probably expecting that sex would follow, but it wouldn't. Not for a few days at any rate.

"'No' what, Thorin," Bilbo replied, laughter in his eyes as he saw the hunger beginning to burn in Thorin's blue eyes. He may be saying no, but he didn't actually mean it. The hobbit knew that dwarf thought that he had oil hidden in his bedside table and that Bilbo was about to seduce him, but Bilbo had a feeling that Thorin would like what was actually in his hand even more.

"You're saying no and you don't even know what I want," Bilbo quipped, his hazel eyes alight with mischief.

"I think I know," Thorin replied playfully nuzzling the side of Bilbo's neck. "I think I know  _exactly_  what it is you want, Bilbo Baggins. You may think that you are inscrutable but to me you are an open book."

"Fine," Bilbo laughed, pushing the dwarf away. He hadn't seen this side of Thorin before and found that he liked it. "If that's true and you know me so well, what have I got in my hand?"

"Riddles?" Thorin asked, remembering when Bilbo had returned to them having asked the Gollum creature the same question . . . or near enough.

"Nearly," Bilbo replied. "This is not a  _true_  riddle. But we could make a game of it if you'd like. How should we do it?"

"I ask for the same chance you gave the creature," Thorin countered. "I get three guesses."

"And if you fail?" Bilbo purred, leaning in in an attempt to fluster the dwarf and only managing to fluster himself. The smell that was Thorin filed his nostrils and clouded his mind. He may not have intended to seduce the dwarf but it might just have to happen.

"If I fail," Thorin said with a grin that did unholy things to Bilbo, encouraging his already swirling hormones," in two days you may have your way with me. I will submit to you entirely." Bilbo dug his nails into his palm to attempt to hide the way the words affected him, though he couldn't entirely hide his  _interest_  in them since they were both still naked.

"And if you win?" the hobbit asked, cursing his own breathlessness. He felt that he already knew the answer, but he needed to hear it. And at the same time he wasn't sure that he could stand to hear it.

"If I win," Thorin whispered, leaning in so that his beard tickled the hobbit's ear, "in two day I get to have my way with you. And I believe that deep down, despite your competitive nature, you  _want_  me to win." Bilbo swallowed at the words. Oh did he want Thorin to win. He was almost disappointed that he knew his lover would fail.

"I accept your terms," Bilbo replied, trying to control his voice. "Now . . . what have I got in my hand?"

Thorin thought about it. He had originally thought that it was oil, but Bilbo's hand was too small to close completely around a vial of oil and still be as closed as tightly as it was. Whatever was in his hand was smaller than a vial of oil, and something that he would keep in a drawer . . .

"We don't have all day," Bilbo reminded him, his voice annoyingly bright. "You have a job to get to and I have a party to plan." Thorin growled. He couldn't think of it. It wasn't oil, and it had made Bilbo nervous. What was small enough to fit inside the hobbit's hand completely that would make him nervous so soon after . . . he had it!

"A bead," Thorin said triumphantly. "You have a bead in your hand. You were going to ask me to braid your hair." Bilbo laughed in shock, he hadn't expected Thorin to guess it. Especially not after their fight that morning about braids and beads. He opened his hand and nestled in his palm was a blue bead made of glass. Thorin picked it up and examined it carefully before looking at Bilbo with wonder in his eyes.

"I gave you this," Thorin breathed. "This is the bead I gave you—"

"When you proposed, yes," Bilbo replied with a smile. "I never got rid of it. After . . . well, I thought about it but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It's been in that drawer for sixty years."

"But it has no dust, no grime," Thorin protested. Even a glass bead should have gathered some tarnish in that time.

"No," Bilbo agreed. "That would have been hard for it to gather when I handled it as often as I have over the years." With another smile, Bilbo reached into the drawer and pulled out a small silver clasp, identical to the ones that currently held Thorin's braids. It was the one that used to hold Bilbo's, one that Thorin had taken from his own hair the night that he had braided in the bead, before that they had just used a bit of leather to tie the braids.

"I kept this too," Bilbo said, placing it in the dwarf's hand. "Do you still doubt that I missed you?" Thorin shook his head, swallowing around the emotion in his throat. That Bilbo would keep the things that he had given him even after he had banished him and tried to kill him, for the first time he realized just how much the hobbit loved him.

"I think," Bilbo said, causing Thorin to look up from the bead and the clasp to see the tender expression on Bilbo's face, "that they've been in that drawer long enough, don't you?" With a soft smile on his own face, Thorin began the act of braiding Bilbo's hair.

"Do you care how I do it?" Thorin asked quietly.

"Just pick," Bilbo replied, leaning lazily against his lover. "You're the one that has to look at it."

 


	16. Cultural Exchanges and Squatters Rights

When Thorin and Bilbo finally emerged from their bedroom, the smells of breakfast had already permeated the air and the voices of the others could be heard from the kitchen. With a smile on his face, Bilbo took Thorin’s hand and led him down the hall.

“I hope there is still food,” Bilbo called as he came around the corner into the sitting room. “I’m famished and will be more than a little miffed if you lot took the time to cook breakfast but not to save some for us.”

“I you wanted food you should have come out earlier,” Bofur called back with a laugh as he began plating up breakfast for the two of them.

“Trust me,” Thorin replied, his voice pained as he remembered what had happened that morning, “you’re glad that we stayed in as long as we did.” Bilbo gave his hand an apologetic squeeze and a small, sad smile before they were around the corner to the kitchen where the rest of them were assembled.

“I’m more than willing to take your word for it,” Dwalin replied shivering again as he remembered the kinds of things that the two of them got up to. “If he’s famished and you’re . . . no I’d rather not know what happened.”

“Oh!” Bilbo scoffed buttering a biscuit as he sat down. “Nothing like _that_ happened. I’m far too old for such acrobatics anymore.”  At his words, and the nonchalance behind them, Thorin choked on his ale and Dwalin flushed to the top of his bald head. Neither of them could believe that _Bilbo_ would bring it up so _explicitly_. The others looked between the three of them speculatively. Even though they all knew that they most likely did not want to know, anything that could render Thorin speechless and make Dwalin blush had to be good . . . or completely debauched and for it to involve Bilbo performing acrobatics . . . it only piqued their curiosity—even Frodo had to admit that he was slightly curious, even if he was disturbed.

“But something of some sort must have happened, even if no acrobatics were involved,” Balin insisted trying to bring the conversation back before something else got said. “You’re wearing a courting braid again after all.” Rather than reply immediately, Bilbo reached up and ran a hand across his braid, a small smile on his face.

“I am,” Bilbo confirmed, even though no confirmation was needed.

“Are those—“ Bofur began leaning in closer to look at the bead and fastener that were now in Bilbo’s hair. He thought that he recognized them as Bilbo’s courting gifts from years ago, but he wasn’t sure. And he couldn’t remember if Bilbo has still worn them the last time that he had seen them, though he doubted it. If anything would break a courtship, threatening to kill your intended _should_ do it.

“They are,” Bilbo said, a warm, gentle smile now directed at his lover. “I kept them all these years.”

“I don’t understand,” Frodo said suddenly. “What’s so special about that braid? All of the dwarves have braids, what makes that one special, other than the fact that it’s on a hobbit?” The dwarves and Bilbo all exchanged looks as they tried to decide who would get the task of explaining courting braids to the young hobbit. In the end, Thorin decided that he would be the one to do it, when it was clear that no one else would.

“Different braids mean different things,” the dwarf began. “There are certain patterns that are reserved for particular things. And braids also mean different things based on who put them there in the first place.”

“The same pattern put on your head by your mother holds a different meaning than if it was put there by a lover or a sibling,” Bofur added with a smile.

“But how can someone else know who braided your hair?” Frodo asked, his voice only showing his confusion. The idea that there could be a meaning ascribed to hair arrangements was entirely foreign to him and he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. “Once it’s braided, how do they know who did it?”

“The placement of the beads in the plait,” Bilbo explained. “A mother will put a bead in one place—or not use a bead at all—while a lover will put it in a different place and a sibling in a third. The ornamentation is the key.”

“What if there are no beads,” Frodo asked, his natural hobbit curiosity taking control.

“Then odds are it was either braided by the dwarf in question, his or her family or before a courtship has taken place,” Dwalin said.

“So the beads are the most important thing?” Frodo asked his voice bright as he felt that he had figured out a great secret.

“Not only,” Balin said with a shake of his head at Frodo’s oversimplification. “The location of the braid and the braid itself is also important.”

“As is the clasp holding it,” Thorin added with a soft smile for Bilbo as he flicked the silver clasp in the hobbit’s hair affectionately.

“So what makes _that_ a courtship braid?” Frodo asked, focusing on that fact rather than the fact that his uncle was wearing a courtship braid despite being well past the age for courtship and it being a _dwarf_ braid.

“There are a few things that distinguish it as a courtship braid,” Bofur replied. “Do you see the pattern in his hair?” Frodo leaned in, seeing the design that was just visible among the various strands of the plait and nodded. “That is one of the features.”

“Also the bead,” Balin added. “Every major line of dwarves has a color assigned to them. For the line of Durin it is blue—that shade of blue in particular. That bead marks your uncle as belonging to an heir of the line of Durin.”

“Belonging to?” Frodo asked incredulously. “Like a home?”

“Not quite like a home, but sort of, in that it declares to other dwarves that Thorin has exclusive rights to my body,” Bilbo replied with a lustful look at his lover. Which caused Thorin to growl low in his throat and Dwalin to chuck a roll at him.

“None of that now!” Dwalin snapped. “We don’t need the two of you getting randy at the table. We eat here.”

“It’s not a bad as it sounds,” Bilbo assured Frodo, seeing the look of horror on his young face. “Thorin’s mine as well.  The same night that he braided his bead into my hair I marked him as well.” Frodo paled as he wondered how else dwarves _marked_ their lovers.

“Aye, and a sight he was too!” Dwalin laughed. “Do you remember, Brother?”

“How could I forget?!” Balin replied with a laugh. “I don’t know that I had ever seen such a ludicrous thing in my life. The great Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, future King Under the Mountain, walking back into camp with daisies in his braids.”

“They were forget-me-nots,” Thorin corrected with a fond smile and what on any other would have been a blush. “Bilbo braided forget-me-nots into my hair.”

“I didn’t have a bead,” the hobbit replied with a shrug. “No one told me that I was supposed to give you a bead. If they had I would have taken the time to carve one. I didn’t know.”

“The flowers were perfect,” Thorin promise stroking Bilbo’s cheek. “Even if I didn’t get to keep them. Nothing could have been a better representation of a hobbit’s love.”

“Actually, you do still have one,” Bilbo offered. Thorin raised an eyebrow at the statement. It had been sixty years. Surely there was no way that a flower could have survived that time. “That night, I took one of them from your hair and pressed it in the log book that Gandalf gave me. I knew that they wouldn’t last and wanted you to have something to remember that night by. I still have it. In the chest at the foot of my bed.”

“You’ll have to show me,” Thorin said with a smile. “Though I will have to take you up on the offer to carve me a bead.”

“I’ll be more than glad to do it,” Bilbo replied, his eyes gentle. “With a forget-me-not on it.”

“I think I preferred it when they were just randy,” Dwalin muttered to Frodo. “The two of them undressing one another with their eyes across camp was easier to stomach than this is.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about it,” Bofur chimed in a wry smile on his face as he looked away from the affectionate couple. “The lewd looks were a bit much at times. Made me feel almost naked even though they weren’t directed at me. Right uncomfortable it was!”

“That still wasn’t as bad was when the two of them were mooning over each other,” Balin said. “With the heat in both their eyes as they looked at one another, I’m surprised that poor Bilbo didn’t burst into flames.”

“It wouldn’t have been all of him,” Dwalin laughed. “Thorin only ever really stared at one part. And Bilbo didn’t really need his a—“

“That is enough of that!” Frodo squeaked suddenly, startling all of them, and causing Bilbo and Thorin to jump apart even though Frodo wasn’t actually talking to them. “I don’t mind that they are together. In fact, I’m glad that they are happy. However, all of this talk about randyness and my uncle’s” Frodo shuddered unable to say the word—partially because he couldn’t decide which of the things about Bilbo that they had discussed bothered him the most.

“It needs to stop. I can’t . . . it’s too . . . I’m going for a walk,” Frodo finally said before grabbing a book off the shelf and walking out the front door.

“Was it something I said?” Bilbo asked looking up at Thorin in confusion. The two of them had been so lost in each other that they hadn’t realized what the others had been talking about and the others were not inclined to fill them in.

**ooOO88OOoo**

After the breakfast dishes were cleared away and Bilbo had put the kettle on for some tea, everyone sat down to their various plans. The dwarves using the kitchen table to plan their settlement—since there were _still_ details to iron out before they took it to the Thane—and Bilbo trying to finish off the plans for the party so that he could help them pick an ideal location.

As he looked down at the guest list and attempted to turn it into a seating chart for dinner, he sighed and decided that tea was not enough. A work of this magnitude called for stouter stuff and for the first time he almost wished he had a cask of dwarven ale. Or perhaps elven wine. That stuff packed a punch as well.

“I’m headed to the cellar,” Bilbo said as he walked through the kitchen. “Can I get any of you anything?”

“Do you still keep wine?” Thorin asked, his eyes alight as he remembered the look on Bilbo’s face the first time he had asked for wine.

“I’ll bring you a glass,” Bilbo replied, not begrudging the dwarf in the least for the request this time. “Anybody else?”  There were a few grunts of disinterest that Bilbo took as a “no” before he trotted off towards his cellar. He had just gotten inside and was searching for a bottle of wine when he heard the bell ring.

“Can one of you get that?” He called. “I’m a bit busy at the moment.” He wasn’t sure if they had heard him, and didn’t particularly care, when suddenly a shrill scream reached his ears followed by his name. He let out another sigh. He would recognize that voice anywhere. Lobelia. What was she doing here?

Groaning to himself, he climbed up the stairs and walked into the kitchen where Thorin, Balin and Bofur were looking towards the entry in curiosity. He set the bottle on the table and leaned in.

“Keep an eye on your valuables, lads,” Bilbo warned. “I think Lobelia is a better burglar than I ever was.” With his companions duly warned, he turned and walked towards the commotion that Lobelia was causing in the entry. As he neared her, he saw that Dwalin was attempting to restrain her as she fought tooth and nail to escape him all the while trying to beat him with her umbrella, which Dwalin took from her the moment Bilbo rounded the corner.

“Relative of yours?” Dwalin asked with a smirk at Bilbo, acting as thought the irate she-hobbit clawing at him meant nothing.

“A distant one, yes,” Bilbo agreed before turning on her. “Lobelia!” he called, attempting to be heard over her shrill cries that Dwalin was attempting to kill her, “What are you doing here?” When she quit clawing at him, Dwalin released her hands and stepped back.

“Bilbo Baggins,” she huffed glaring at Dwalin once more before rounding on Bilbo, her eyes aflame. “I am here because I heard the most _vile_ rumor while I was in the market this morning.”

“Oh really?” Bilbo asked, attempting to keep his tone light rather than demand what it had to do with him or ask what business it was of hers even if it did. “And what was this rumor about?”

“You,” she spat. “I heard that you were _fornicating_ with a _male_ dwarf in an alleyway! Was this the brute you were _having relations_ with?”

“Brute?” Dwalin sneered leveling a glare at her. “I’m no brute. And I will have you know that Bilbo would never be so lucky as to have a tumble with me. I know things that . . . “

“NO Lobelia,” Bilbo said loudly in an attempt to cover up what was sure to be a colorful rant from Dwalin, even if he wanted to let him traumatize the vile woman. “I wasn’t in an alleyway with Dwalin. And I wasn’t exactly forn—”

“But you don’t deny that you were in an alleyway with a dwarf,” Lobelia insisted. “I swear Bilbo, you besmirch the good name of Baggins more and more every day! Why if your poor father were around to see this . . . dwarves in his home and his only son _fornicating_ with them in public! It would kill him, it would!”

“I assure you, Lobelia,” Bilbo sighed rubbing his temples as he felt another headache coming on, “I do no more to besmirch our family name than you and your son do. Less even.”

“How dare you!” she snapped. “I have never brought near the shame on us as you! **I** never went off on an adventure and came back strange, well strang _er_. And I would never do something like _that_ in an alleyway!”

“Perhaps you should look into it!” Bilbo snapped. “It might help your personality!” Dwalin snorted at the implication in Bilbo’s words while Lobelia turned an interesting shade of puce. “In fact—“

Bilbo was cut off as Thorin bent down to wrap his arms around the hobbit, attempting to calm him before the madness could take over once more. “Who is this, Âzyungâl?” he whispered, trying to distract Bilbo by making him think through a foreign word.  It worked and he felt Bilbo lean into him with a purr.

“Lobelia Sackville-Baggins,” Bilbo replied leaning into Thorin’s embrace with a smile at the term of endearment, “a _relation_ of mine. Lobelia, this is Thorin Oakenshield, erstwhile King Under the Mountain, and the “brute” I was cavorting in the alley with.” Thorin dipped his head to her at the introduction as she gaped at him. She couldn’t believe that Bilbo had been doing _that_ in an alley way with a dwarf King. _Bilbo_?

“Lobelia Sackville-Baggins?” Balin asked suddenly, recognizing the name from the second time that he had visited Bilbo in his home. “Not the same one that was selling your things at auction when you returned home, is she?”

“What!?” Thorin demanded. He had never heard about this. Bilbo had nearly lost his home in his attempt to help them regain theirs? And that woman had been the one to do it.

“The same,” Bilbo replied with a smirk. “Lobelia has been trying to get her hands on my home for years. My longevity is a major inconvenience to her. She had hoped that I had died sixty years ago but here I am, nearly 111 and still going strong. She hates it, don’t you, Lobelia?” Lobelia said nothing, but looked almost nauseous at the glares she was receiving from the dwarves and Bilbo’s self-satisfied smirk.

“She tried to sell your home?” Thorin breathed, anger coloring his words. The thought that Bilbo’s home had nearly been taken from him by another caused his blood to boil. Too many people that he cared about had lost their homes. He had been unable to stop the dragon, but there was no way that a she-hobbit would cow him. She would rue the day that she ever attempted to wrong his mate—even if he wouldn’t actually hurt her, this would be a lesson she would never forget.

“No,” Bilbo argued seeming to sense his lover’s train of thought and smirking at what he knew was coming. Lobelia would finally get her comeuppance. “She wanted to keep my home. It was my possessions she had no need for. _Those_ were what she was auctioning off. Took me forever to get them all back and all kinds of paperwork to get her out of Bag End.”

“So she was a squatter,” Dwalin said looking down at her with a cruel smile, Bilbo had just given them free license to scare her and Dwalin did not intend to let the chance pass him by. “Do you know what dwarves do to squatters?” She shook her head, her voice failing her and panic in her eyes. She had closed the door behind her when she came in and now she was trapped in the house with four large dwarves leering down at her.  For the first time she wished that she had been kinder to Bilbo, perhaps then he would be more inclined to help her.

“Squatters in my realm tended to become involuntary permanent residents,” Thorin elaborated darkly. “And I assure you, their residences were _not_ comfortable, nor their meals particularly filling. Especially when they trespassed on the property of my family. In both Ered Luin and Erebor we had special dungeons reserved for people that attempted to squat in royal apartments, which as my mate Bilbo’s home became. Perhaps we should send word to my sister or my cousin. I’m sure that they have more than enough room in one of their dungeons for a hobbit. Would you like that, Bilbo? I’m sure that we could arrange it.” Lobelia looked up at Bilbo with pleading eyes. She knew that one word from him and she would be gone, disappeared into the darkness of dwarven dungeons to live out the rest of her days. Her heart stopped beating as Bilbo looked at her speculatively before looking up at his royal lover.

“I don’t think so,” Bilbo eventually said. “She didn’t do that much harm, after all. And I did eventually get my home back.”

“If that is how you feel,” Thorin replied stroking the side of Bilbo’s face with a smile. “I suppose that if you can forgive her for her transgressions against you, I can as well. However if you ever change your mind, my offer still stands. Dís has never before seen a hobbit and Dáin . . . he’s never had one in his dungeons.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bilbo replied with a smile before turning back to Lobelia. “Can I do anything else for you or did you just want to keep me abreast of the Hobbiton gossip?”

“Nothing else,” She said, her voice high and panicked as she grasped for the knob behind her. “Sorry to have troubled you. Have-have a n-n-nice day!” With that she opened the door and bolted out it as thought Bilbo and the dwarves were breathing dragon fire after her, not even bothering to pull it closed behind her.

Silence followed her departure for a moment before it was broken by Bofur. “Did you see her face?” He asked, the words garbled by the laughter that accompanied them. “Royal dungeons reserved for squatters! Where in Durin’s name did you come up with that, Thorin?”  

“Was it too much?” Thorin asked with an uncomfortable smile and a small laugh of his own. “I feel like I may have overdone it a bit. Perhaps I should have just stuck with either Ered Luin or Erebor and not both.”

“No it was perfect!” Bilbo added, his own laughter choking his words. “And the bit about the food! That was marvelous! You managed to hit on both of the things that would most trouble a hobbit, food and comfort!”

“Well,” Balin said after they had regained control of themselves, “I hope that you were not fond of her, Bilbo. I doubt we’ll ever see her again.”

“It’s no loss, I assure you,” Bilbo said with another laugh. “I’ve been trying to get rid of her for _years_.”

“Glad that we could be of service,” Dwalin laughed clapping the hobbit on the shoulder before walking back to the kitchen. “I’m only a little disappointed that she didn’t faint.” The rest followed him, still laughing at the look on Lobelia’s face and the readiness and creativity of Thorin’s lie.

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked as he closed the door. “What would you have done if I had said yes?”

“I have absolutely _no_ idea,” Thorin replied with a laugh. But it hadn’t mattered. Bilbo hadn’t said yes and Lobelia had gotten the fright of her life, courtesy of the dwarves, a fright that she never explained to anyone for fear that Bilbo would change his mind about her imprisonment. That’s not to say that she didn’t continue to spread gossip, however, she was more careful about it, making sure that she could be in no way connected to any gossip that related to Bilbo or his dwarves.


	17. Another Guest and Terrifying Moments

With the door safely shut once more, Bilbo followed the others back into his dining room and sat down at his end of the table with his ale and his guest list to try to iron out all the details. The atmosphere, though it had not been tense before, was much lighter now since none of them could look at Thorin with a straight face.

"Squatter's dungeons, indeed," Bilbo muttered to himself as he vindictively placed Lobelia next to Thorin at the main table for the party so that he could watch and see if Thorin managed to trick her again.

"What are you smirking about, Bilbo," Bofur asked suddenly. "Surely planning a seating chart can't be  _that_ amusing."

"Oh, nothing much," Bilbo replied with an evil glint in his eyes that was caused by mischief rather than madness. "I just figured that Lobelia would just  _love_  to sit next to Thorin at the party. You agree with me, don't you?"

"Most definitely," Bofur replied while Dwalin said "That is sheer evil, Bilbo," with an appreciative grin.

"Shouldn't you take pity on her, lad?" Balin asked with a fond shake of his head. "She did just have the fright of her life. Wasn't that enough?" Bilbo opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Thorin.

"That was most certainly  _not_  enough," Thorin growled darkly. "I only wish that I could have actually done what I threatened. I had been enjoying my lack of responsibilities, but now . . . I almost miss the power I once had. If I could have done it—"

"You would have imprisoned that hobbit forever?" Balin asked in shock. Those words worried him. Thorin had always been a bit cantankerous, even when they were growing up together, but this . . . the only time Balin had seen him say or do anything like that had been when he had threatened to kill Bilbo. It worried the old dwarf.

"Not forever," Thorin amended with a casual shrug. "Just for a time. It would have served her right. To think that she tried to take Bilbo's  _home._ The very thought of it makes my blood boil. His  _home,_  Balin. It was almost taken from him as ours was while he tried to help us reclaim our own."

"But it wasn't," Bilbo said standing to go to Thorin. He hadn't thought about how hearing that Lobelia had almost taken his home would affect the dwarf who had lost not only his home but his mother to the dragon when he was little more than a dwarfling. To him, Lobelia was no more than an irritation, but to Thorin . . . to him she was a lesser side of evil.

"She didn't succeed," Bilbo soothed his lover, stroking the side of his face and looking into his sad blue eyes. "I managed to stop her. My home was never taken from me."

"It doesn't change the fact that she tried," Thorin muttered, leaning into Bilbo's hand.

"No, but it doesn't matter either," Bilbo replied resting his forehead gently against Thorin's. "And I can assure you that after the fright that you just gave her we will never have to worry about her trying again. You have ensured that my home remains safe, Thorin, just as you reclaimed yours."

Any reply that Thorin might have made was cut off as Frodo walked through the door.

"Can any of you tell me why Lobelia was running down the hill looking like she was being chased by a warg?" Frodo asked. "She about bowled me over in her haste. You lot wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you?" His only reply was a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Despite the tension that had erupted in the room a bit ago, the mental image of a pale terrified Lobelia grasping for the doorknob was one that they wouldn't soon forget. And even if Bilbo had mostly forgiven her, they were dwarves and she had committed a wrong against someone they were fond of, they were not near as quick to forgive her as Bilbo had been. She had deserved it. Though their humor was tempered a bit by the fact that they now knew that it had only half been a jest. It wasn't near as funny as an actual threat, but it was still funny enough.

"That, my dear Frodo, is quite a story," Bilbo replied once he was able. "However it is not mine to tell. If you want to know what happened to her, you will have to ask Thorin Oakenshield, Great  _Fibber_  Under the Mountain."

"And how, pray tell, would Frodo ask Thorin Oakenshield anything, Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf asked poking his head in the door of the hobbit hole. "I know that you, of all people, have not forgotten his fate. And while it does please me that you can speak his name once more, I doubt he would be overly pleased with your new title for him. Thorin was a  _very_  proud dwarf, after all." Though Gandalf didn't say it aloud, he did feel that if any were justified in calling Thorin by such a title it would be Bilbo after the gross betrayal of his trust that Thorin had committed. It was just that he had never thought to hear the hobbit say such things of the deceased dwarf.

"And furthermore," Gandalf said. "I fail to see what he could possibly have to do with Lobelia, the dreadful woman. I almost regret that she never made the pleasure of his acquaintance. With how she treats you, I am more than willing to bet that he would have had many words for her and none of them kind. Despite that  _unfortunate_  affair, he really was quite fond of you." He had wanted to tell Bilbo that for many years but the pain had always been too close to the hobbit for him to feel able to. Now that Bilbo was speaking of his dead lover once more, Gandalf deemed that it was time. Perhaps hearing it from another would help Bilbo to move on.

"Aye, that he did!" Bofur said with a laugh, thinking of the words Thorin had said to Lobelia. Gandalf smiled at the dwarf's words thinking they referred to his words about Thorin's affections for Bilbo, Bilbo needed his friends after all. "Had some mighty fierce words for that orc of a she-hobbit." Gandalf felt his smile falter. What were they talking about? Thorin had never met Lobelia, had he? Gandalf didn't believe so and certainly not after he would have had words with her over her treatment of Bilbo.

"What did he say?" Frodo asked brightly. While he didn't like it when the dwarves pestered him continually, Lobelia deserved whatever she received and he hoped that it had been particularly vile . . . perhaps Thorin and Bilbo had opened the door in a state not conducive to receiving visitors. As much as the thought disturbed him, it made him smile to think that Lobelia had been traumatized.

"Threatened to put her in the dungeons of Erebor or Ered Luin," Dwalin crowed. "Something about squatting in royal apartments having a life sentence."

"He didn't!" Frodo laughed sitting at the table and reaching for a cookie.

"Aye, lad, he did," Bofur replied with a laugh. "Even went into how abysmal the food would be and how lacking in comforts the dungeon is."

"That's perfect!" Frodo laughed. "Serves her right too. Always up here pestering us. Half the time I think she only comes to see if Bilbo is dead at last."

"Or to steal my silverware," Bilbo said, turning to face Frodo with a smile. "I know that I've lost more than one set to her over the years."

"When did all of this happen?" Gandalf asked trying in vain to understand what they were talking about. His memory was beginning to fade a bit as the years continued to pass him by, but he knew that he had not lost that much. It was mostly archaic spells and such, not events. And he would surely remember hearing about Thorin yelling at Lobelia.

"The last time you lot were in the Shire Thorin wouldn't have had time to talk with Lobelia and he surely wouldn't have threatened her with imprisonment for squatting in royal apartments," Gandalf said, thinking of the very rocky start that Bilbo and Thorin had gotten off to. "She has never left the Shire." Bilbo, Thorin, Balin and Frodo flinched. They had forgotten that Gandalf did not know that Thorin lived. They felt trepidation take the place of amusement as they wondered how the wizard would take the news. This could be about to go very badly.

"Course he didn't!" Dwalin replied. "That conversation took place . . ." the warrior trailed off as he realized what the others had. Gandalf didn't know.

"When?" the wizard said, making his way further into the house, making sure to duck the fixtures. He could feel that something was going on here, and while it didn't feel evil he wasn't entirely sure what he was feeling. It almost felt like . . . but that was impossible. There would be no reason for him to feel the presence of  _them_  here. They hadn't come to Arda for many an Age.

"Moments ago," Bofur replied as though Gandalf were being dense on purpose. "Lobelia came, beat Dwalin with her umbrella, argued a bit with Bilbo and then Thorin threatened to imprison her for squatting and she ran." If it hadn't been for the sensation of the magic of the Valar in the air, Gandalf would have believed this to be an elaborate joke. The dwarves—and Bilbo—were shameless pranksters and just the _idea_  of  _Lobelia_  beating  _Dwalin_  with an  _umbrella_  was ludicrous enough to make him disbelieve it, if he hadn't seen the look on her face himself.

Even so, he was unprepared for the sight that met him as he rounded the final corner. Dwalin, Balin, Bofur and Frodo sat at table looking at him expectantly while Thorin stood at his entrance, an almost nervous half-smile on his face as he wrapped an arm around Bilbo almost as if he were hiding behind the hobbit.

"Gandalf," the dwarf said with a small bow. "It's been a while." Gandalf looked at him carefully for a moment, studying his features and holding the dwarf's gaze. While it was clear that it made Thorin uncomfortable, he continued to stare into the wizard's eyes as Gandalf attempted to read his soul. After what seemed like an eternity, the wizard blinked and smiled.

"It has indeed," Gandalf replied as though he hadn't just stared down an ex-dwarf King. "I never thought that I would say this, but I am glad to see you again, Thorin Oakenshield."

"I suppose that I deserve that," Thorin said with a small laugh. "We didn't part on the best of terms, after all."

"No," Gandalf replied crisply. "We did not. Your stubborn pride had just caused a war that killed many good people and you had just broken the heart of a being that I am very fond of. Bilbo Baggins did not deserve  _any_  of what you did to him, Thorin. I do not know why he chose to allow you back into his home, but—"

"Now Gandalf—" Bilbo said, attempting to diffuse the situation before Thorin and Gandalf came to blows in his dining room. A great warrior Thorin may be, but Gandalf was a wizard. He wouldn't stand a chance.

"No," Thorin said softly, placing a hand on Bilbo's cheek to quite him. "Gandalf is correct. You didn't deserve that." He paused to glance at the others in the room before turning back to Bilbo. "None of you did. He is not being unkind, only honest. It's less than I deserve for the pain that I have caused."

"You have changed, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf said suddenly an appreciative look in his eyes. "A change that I believe to be for the better. Death may have been good for you." Bilbo squeaked indignantly but Gandalf ignored him and turned to Frodo.

"Now, Frodo my lad," Gandalf said with a fond smile, "I never believed that I would have to say this in a hobbit hole, but I am famished. Is there naught to eat?" With a surprised noise and many apologies for making Gandalf go hungry, Frodo began to get him a plate of things to eat to tide him over while the dwarves—minus Thorin who was still looking sadly between Gandalf and the hobbit in his arms—began to prepare lunch.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Despite the little storm cloud of gloom that had settled over Thorin at Gandalf's words, lunch was a merry affair. Gandalf and the rest of the dwarves spent it catching up and telling Frodo of things that he had never seen, much to his enjoyment. Bilbo watched it all in silence as he sat next to his morose lover. Frodo should have been born a Took, what with his penchant to tales of adventure.

"He would go with them, you know?" Bilbo said suddenly, watching his nephew laugh with the others as Bofur told of a "conversation" he had gotten into in a tavern in Dale with a man over whether dwarves or men made the best toys.

"Where?" Thorin asked. He hadn't been paying attention to the conversation and wondered if the others had offered to take Frodo somewhere dangerous. He wouldn't allow that. Bilbo would not lose his nephew the way that Thorin had lost his. Frodo would remain in the Shire where he was safe.

"Nowhere, anywhere," Bilbo said with a sad smile. "He would go. He has too much of me in him, even if we're not blood related. He thirsts for adventure. I should never have told him so many stories from the trip to Erebor. Or I should have told them as they actually happened rather than omitting all the terror to keep from giving him nightmares. He seems to think that adventures are marvelous things."

"They can be," Thorin offered trying to reassure Bilbo that adventures weren't all bad, though Frodo would never go off with a contingent of dwarves if it was within Thorin's power to prevent—which it was. "Parts of ours were."

"And parts of it were deadly and terrifying.  _Most_ of it was deadly and terrifying," Bilbo retorted not realizing that Thorin was as set against Frodo leaving as he was and thinking that the dwarf was trying to convince him to let the lad do as he would.

"That's just because you weren't doing it right," Bofur jumped in. "Adventures only have to be terrifying if you allow them to be. We weren't terrified, were we lads?"

"Speak for yourself," Balin replied with a snort. "Those stone giants!  _They_  were terrifying and I have no problem admitting it. As a dwarf I never thought to be afraid of stone but" Balin paused with a shudder. "If you weren't scared-witless  _at least_  once on that quest it's just a sign that you were already witless to begin with."

"For me it was the spiders," Dwalin said quietly his eyes haunted as he remembered being captured and wrapped by the spiders. "The way their pincers clicked." The great dwarf gave a shudder. "I can't even stand the little ones anymore."

"Mine," Bofur began slowly, his voice little more than a whisper, "mine was when Bombur fell into the river. I'll never forget the feeling of knowing that I would never see my brother again. The thought of telling his wife that he was dead. . . "

"I had too many to pick between. I spent most of the quest terrified," Bilbo said quietly his voice sad as he thought about it. "But if I had to choose—"

"Bilbo, you don't have to share that with us," Balin cut in, knowing without a doubt what it would be and not wanting him to have to say it. They all knew that Thorin trying to kill him had been the most terrifying thing for him, and rightly so. Your lover should never become your murderer.

"Nonsense," Bilbo scoffed. "You all shared yours, I'll share mine. It's not what you're thinking about, Balin, I promise." And it wasn't. That moment had been one of the most heartbreaking, not the most terrifying and he had no desire to ask them which had been theirs in  _that_  category since he was willing to bet that they all shared  _that_ one.

"My most terrifying moment was when I had to walk alone into the lair of Smaug," Bilbo said with a sad laugh. "It even topped jumping into the river to ride down to Lake Town. I shook the entire way down that tunnel. Even though I knew why you couldn't, I wished that you all could have come with me. As selfish as it was, I knew that I was going to die and halfway wished that we could all die together." The others smiled fondly at him. They still couldn't believe that he had been able to do that. It took some courage to walk into the den of a dragon and until that point, though he had proved himself time and again, none of them had believed that he would actually do it.

"That was mine as well," Thorin replied. It surprised them, they had figured for sure that his was something else as well, but Thorin, like Bilbo, put the memory they had to be thinking of in a different category entirely.

"I almost couldn't bear to let you go," Thorin said with a sad smile. "It was Fíli who reminded me that it was why we had brought you in the first place and Kíli that sat with me until you returned. I miss them." There were mumbled agreements before the clock on the mantle chimed noon and Thorin stood with a sigh.

"Are you coming with me today, Bilbo?" he asked offering Bilbo a hand which the hobbit gratefully accepted.

"I'm afraid I must," Bilbo said a mischievous light in his eyes at the fact that he would once again get to watch Thorin at work. "I'm not sure how well you will be able to get back. Your sense of direction—or lack thereof—is infamous." This statement was met with a general laugh of amusement. Thorin had the worst sense of direction most of them had ever seen. It had been a joke in Ered Luin—out of earshot of Thorin, of course—that the only reason he could find his way through his shirt in the morning was the light from the hole.

"I managed to lead us to Erebor," Thorin replied gruffly. He knew that he was bad with directions, but to be called on it . . . it rankled a bit.

"Yes, and the journey there took twice as long as my return trip," Bilbo replied with a grin. "And if memory serves, you got lost  _twice_  in your attempt to find my home even with the mark that Gandalf left on my door!"

"Yes, well, it was dark and there was no one about to ask," Thorin replied with a grimace at the memory and not feeling up to pointing out to Bilbo that most of the delays had  _not_  been his fault. They had spent a couple of months in Thranduil's dungeons, after all. "I'm sure that more than one of the friendly market hobbits will direct me to the forge."

" _IF_  they'll speak to you now," Bilbo replied with an indecent smirk. "We did cause quite a disturbance yesterday."

"We did indeed," Thorin agreed with a growl. "And, my dear hobbit, if you do not stop looking at me that way I may forget my promise to give you a couple of days to recover and we may give them a repeat performance." Bilbo said nothing, but simply looked at the dwarf cheekily over his shoulder as he walked to the door, Thorin right on his heels.

"Do you  _ever_  think they will stop doing that?" Frodo asked desperately once they were gone.

"No," Balin said with a sigh.

"Not a chance, lad," Bofur agreed.

"Trust me," Dwalin said shaking his head. "This is a tame version. They have been much worse in the past. When they first started . . ." Dwalin couldn't quite find the word that he wanted to use to describe what exactly it was that Thorin and Bilbo did and before he could, Bofur decided that it didn't matter.

"We almost tied them to a tree and left them," Bofur finished. "Dori was particularly adamant that we needed to. Something about ruining his brother's innocence. Fíli and Kíli were beside themselves."

"Only because  _someone_ ," Balin said with a pointed glare at his brother, "allowed them to walk in on their uncle and the hobbit at a stream."

"They got even with me, the little brats," Dwalin growled. "There is  _no_  way that what they say  _compared_  to what I did."

"You never did tell us what they were doing," Bofur said with a curious tilt to his head. With a quick glance at Frodo's pale face, Dwalin shook his head.

"If you truly want to have nightmares for the rest of your life, ask me later," the warrior told the toymaker. "I won't say it in front of the lad." That settled it for both Balin and Bofur. They would ask that night. Dwalin was the forerunner in the "Fainting Frodo" contest and for him to pass up an opportunity . . . this had to be debauched indeed!

"On a different, yet related note," Gandalf cut in, "where did they go? I believe that Thorin said something about the forge?"

"Aye," Dwalin said. "Thorin has no sword and no money so he is working for the hobbit smith to earn the materials he needs."

"But Bilbo has money," Gandalf argued. "More than he will ever spend. His parents—well his mother—were wealthy and he still has gold from your adventure."

"Yes," Frodo agreed. "But Thorin wanted to do it this way." With that, a true smile crossed Gandalf's face. Death truly had been good for Thorin after all. It had tempered his arrogance and rage and brought back the dwarf he would have been had Smaug not taken his home when he was a boy. Now all that was left was for Gandalf to figure out why he was back at all.


	18. Questions, Answers and Hobbitlings

However Bilbo had expected the hobbits in the market to behave towards him and Thorin, it wasn’t what he received. Rather than avoid the two of them, the hobbits surrounded them the way they had before with more questions for Thorin and now a couple for Bilbo. The questions flew faster than they could possibly answer as the hobbits pressed closer in on them as if to press the answers from their very lungs. But, really, Bilbo should have anticipated this; hobbits were curious things by nature and when you added something that was as taboo as a homosexual relationship to the mix, their curiosity became insatiable.

So now, Thorin and Bilbo were besieged in the market being bombarded by questions that they were unsure how to answer. In the end they decided that the truth would be the best option, but they didn’t have time to answer any of the questions before another flew from a different direction.

“Did the two of you meet on that mad quest he went on?” Asked one hobbit woman as a male hobbit queried “If you did, where have you been for the last sixty years?” as a third asked “Is it true that you are dwarven royalty?” and a fourth—a cute, tiny, wide-eyed hobbitling with a bright blush on his little round cheeks—asked “Is it true that you two . . . _you know_? Just like Mommy and Daddy?” At that last question—such a taboo subject—coming in such an innocent tone from such a small child silence fell in the market and Bilbo felt a flush rise up his cheeks. He had no idea how to answer that question from a child. With an adult he would have either answered that they were—perhaps crudely explaining how such a thing worked if he was particularly irate—or told them that it was none of their business. But such a small child . . . Bilbo had no practice with small children. Frodo had been twelve when he was adopted. Not truly a child, not like _this_ one, which couldn’t be more than five years old.

Thorin, however, had a bit more experience with small children and bent so that he was as close to eye level with the youngster as he could be. He should have expected it, but for some reason he hadn’t realized that hobbit children were so much smaller than dwarflings. He had seen swaddled dwaflings that were larger than this hobbitling that was walking and talking. He was suddenly struck by the realization that hobblings were absolutely precious and Thorin suddenly and painfully wished for the first time for a do-over with his nephews when they were small. Perhaps he and Bilbo would have to adopt a small orphaned hobbit, or perhaps an orphaned dwarfling as the odds of finding one of those would be greater due to the lifestyle so many dwarves led. He had originally intended to only speak with the child, but now he had the ardent desire to feel a small body in his arms once more.

Watching the child’s mother carefully and gauging her reaction, the dwarf reached out slowly and lifted the child onto his hip with a smile. The mother was a bit shocked, but her expression soon melted into a smile as she saw how gentle the large dwarf was being with her child and the lack of fear her son had for the dwarf, even going so far as to reach up to touch one of the silver clasps of his braids. Hobbits—while parents were the absolute authority in child-rearing—had no objections to allowing others to play with or lift their children. They truly did live in a blessed area with no crime and very little danger and their permissiveness of strangers to touch their children was a byproduct of their seclusion.

“And where did you hear that, little one?” Thorin asked with a laugh as the child managed to swat one of his braids. He knew from experience that children had a knack for hearing things that they ought not to and knew that odds are that he had overheard it from his mother gossiping. But even so, he couldn’t find it within him to be angry with her. After all, this was most likely the most interesting thing to happen in Hobbiton in many years and she had said nothing that wasn’t the truth after all.

“Everyone is saying it,” the little boy said shyly looking up at the dwarf through his bangs. “They all say that you and Mister Bilbo were for . . . forni . . . doing _something_ in an alley that only married couples should do.” 

“They were right,” Thorin said gently a soft smile on his face as he ruffled the boy’s hair. “But it’s alright. Can I let you in on a secret?” Even though the question spoke of a secret, Thorin kept his voice loud enough that everyone could hear him easily. The little boy nodded eagerly, his green eyes wide at the prospect of being let in on a secret.

“Do you promise to keep it just between us?” Thorin asked, laughter in his voice as he remembered how easy it had been to get such eager expressions from his nephews when they were young. Rather than hurt him, the memory made him feel warm. They had been such happy dwarflings and had always managed to bring out the softer side of him.

“Can I tell Mama?” the child asked, concern furrowing his tiny brow at the prospect of being forced to keep something from his mother.

“Of course you can tell your Ma,” Thorin replied with a true laugh. “We can’t have you keeping secrets from her!”

“Ok then,” the little hobbit agreed, a smile brightening his face once more with the rapidly shifting emotions of a young child. “What’s the secret?”

“Mister Bilbo and I _are_ married,” Thorin replied conspiratorially. “We traveled together on the quest and fell in love on the road. Just before we reclaimed my kingdom from the dragon Smaug, he and I were wed in front of my kin—his friends—by the Master of Lake Town.”

“You are?” the hobbitling asked with the wide-eyed wonder of a child. “I didn’t know that you were married, Mister Bilbo!”

“No one did, lad,” Bilbo replied with a sad smile. “That’s why it’s a secret. Can we trust you to keep it for us?” The boy nodded eagerly and looked between Thorin and Bilbo with wonder in his green eyes. He squirmed slightly and Thorin set him back on the ground to return to his mother with a slight bow of thanks to the hobbit woman in question for allowing him to hold her child. She smiled back at him and gave him a slight nod of her own. While she may not approve of Bilbo’s dwarf’s extracurricular activities, he _did_ have a way with children and through the medium of her child he had answered most of the questions they had posed to him.

“Again, I am afraid that I must take my leave of you. I’m afraid that your smith will have my beard if I am late for work,” Thorin said, looking between the shocked faces of the adult hobbits as they processed the fact that not only had Thorin just admitted that he and Bilbo had been rutting in an alleyway, but that he was a king—or at least in possession of a kingdom—as well as the fact that he and Bilbo had quested together. But the most shocking thing—and more fodder for gossip—was the fact that not only were he and Bilbo _intimate_ ; they were _married_! And the Shire had missed out on the party that would have accompanied Bilbo’s wedding. Just the thought of the food that they had missed out on . . . they wondered if Bilbo could be convinced to have an official Shire wedding to go along with his dwarven one. Even if they weren’t entirely sure that they approved of his choice of mate, a Baggins party was not something to scoff at and they would be more than willing to support a strange wedding to be invited to one.

When it became clear that no path was going to magically appear this time, Bilbo and Thorin began the slow process of edging their way through the crowd. As with the day before, no sooner had they cleared the crowd than gossip began flying once more, but unlike the day before Bilbo wasn’t livid with his lover: that day, he was amused.

“I saw that, you know,” Bilbo said as soon as he believed them to be out of earshot, looking at Thorin out of the corner of his eye with a smile on his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thorin replied with a small wry smile. No one had ever called him on the way he behaved around children before. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Bilbo would be the first. “There was nothing for you to see.”

“You mean to tell me that I did not just see the Great Warrior-King Under the Mountain cuddling a hobbitling in the market?” Bilbo asked sarcastically, a fond smile on his face as he remembered how open and gentle Thorin’s face had been as he held the little one. It had been strange as he had never seen anything close to that expression on his lover’s face before save for the few precious moments they had been able to lie together after they made love, but not abnormally so. And he found that he had loved seeing it.

“You saw nothing of the sort,” Thorin teased. “I would never do anything as undignified as cuddle a child. Especially not a hobbit child. I do not cuddle hobbits.” Bilbo snorted quietly in disbelief. He knew for a fact that Thorin did, in fact, cuddle at least one hobbit and even if he had never seen Thorin around children before he had no doubt in his mind that the dwarf had cuddled many children over the years. He was fourteen years older than his sister, after all. Surely he had held her when she was a child.

“Bilbo,” Thorin began quietly after they had walked in silence for a moment. “I know that we will need to talk about it and that you will need to think it over, but . . .”

“You would like to raise a child,” Bilbo said with a knowing smile.  “I saw it in your face before you picked up the little lad. And you’re right, Thorin. That is something that we will have to talk about and think long and hard on before we attempt it. You have to remember, I am eleven years older than I ever should have gotten. And I’m . . . well . . . do we need to bring a child into that?”

“I’m not saying no,” Bilbo continued as he saw Thorin’s face fall slightly as he laid out the difficulties they needed to think about before they even thought about adopting a child. “I am just saying that we need to think carefully on it. And if we decided that we want a child—assuming that we can find another orphan to take in—what kind of child would we want? A dwarf? A hobbit? I would ask about a human or elf but that would pose and entirely different problem as I have not Man-sized rooms in my home.”

“So you will think about it?” Thorin asked hopefully. He hadn’t realized until that day just how much he actually _desired_ to raise children with Bilbo. A part of him felt guilty at the desire. He had already raised his children and failed them. Was it fair to their memories to start over? But another part of him argued that he was not replacing his boys and that they would want him to be happy. If his happiness would also bring joy to an orphan, where was the harm in that?

“I’ll think about it,” Bilbo agreed. “I would have you happy and if a child is what it takes, I think that I can live with that. Just remember that if we do acquire one if it is a particularly young one they are quite needy and I am rather old.”

“My dear hobbit,” Thorin replied with a laugh, “I still have eighty-four years on you. You do not get to talk to me of being old.”

“What if we just agree that we are both old and let the matter drop?” the hobbit asked with another smile which Thorin returned before they walked into the open door of the forge and Thorin relieved Tom for the afternoon. There was a larger pile of things to be completed that day than there had been the day before despite the substantial pile that Tom had already completed. Apparently word of Thorin’s presence had spread and business was flooding in even from as far as Buckland and Tookborough.

At that information, Thorin had his second realization that day: if he and his kin opened a forge in the Shire, they would put Tom out of business. He hadn’t thought of what repercussions such an action might have on the smith already working in the Shire. While he prepared for work, the wheels in his brain were spinning as he tried to think of a solution that would not put Tom out of business and would not inconvenience his kin either. The only solution he could think of was one that would be a hard sell: Tom would have to work _with_ them. They would all still make a profit and it would serve all of them well, the problem would be convincing Tom to join them and convincing his kin to allow the hobbit into a dwarven forge.

He knew that he could order it and they would obey, but they would not welcome the hobbit. It would be the situation with Bilbo all over again. Even though it was not an elegant solution, it was the only equitable one that he could see and he would enforce it if he had to. He only hoped that it would not come to that. With that idea figured out, Thorin turned his full attention on lessening the pile if not eliminating it entirely and Bilbo settled down with a red book and a quill in the corner. Both of them occasionally stole glances at the other one or asked a question, but for the most part the afternoon was spent in a companionable silence—from words at any rate since forges are _never_ silent.

**ooOO88OOoo**

By the time that dusk came and Tom returned, Thorin had completed all of the repairs and had banked the fire and returned all the tools to their proper places. Tom picked up a couple of the pieces and looked at them before glancing up at the dwarf with wonder in his eyes.

“You mean that you managed to do all of that in half a day?” Tom said his voice showing his shock. “I’d thought that that pile would occupy us a few days at least.”

“Should I work more slowly?” Thorin asked seriously. He hadn’t meant to upset the hobbit and if there was a reason the hobbit wanted him to work more slowly he would be willing to do it.

“Of course not!” Tom cried in joy. “I have no objections to how quickly you work. I’m impressed, though I may have to go knock a few holes in pots to keep us in business if things keep up at this rate.”

“I would hate for you to have to resort to that, Master Tom,” Thorin said with a laugh at the idea of the hobbit sneaking into homes to break pots.

“I don’t believe that I will have to,” Tom replied with a laugh of his own. “Do you realize that in two half-days you have done nearly a week’s worth of work? Even if I can find us no other work for the rest of the week, you have already completed enough to keep the forge’s profits steady ‘til next week.” Thorin remained silent, unsure of what he should say in response.

“In fact,” the hobbit smith continued, “now that your relationship with Mister Bilbo has come out and I know that you will be here for some time if not forever, if I am unable to find you work or you complete all that I have found I see no harm in you starting to reap your end of our bargain.”

“That is very generous of you, Master Tom,” Thorin replied with a bow of thanks. With the thought of the partnership he was about to propose, the dwarf made an offer that he never thought he would make to a hobbit. “When such a day comes, if you would like to learn, I would be more than willing to teach you how to forge a sword.”

“You . . .you would _teach_ me?” Tom asked breathlessly. He knew that dwarves were very secretive and especially so when it came to their forging secrets. The idea that this dwarf would _teach_ him how they forge swords . . . it was astounding.

“I would,” Thorin replied. “I owe you a debt; most smiths would not have turned their forges over to me so readily or allowed me to earn my reward so quickly. They would have claimed that I was barely making any profit for them and kept me for months or perhaps even years before they admitted that I had earned my pay. I admire your kindness and honesty. For this, I will teach you.”

“Will you not be in trouble with you kin?” The hobbit asked warily. He didn’t want to discourage the dwarf but he also didn’t want him to come to harm for his generosity.

“If you know of my relationship with Bilbo then you have also heard the other rumors about me, have you not?” Thorin asked with a small laugh. The smith nodded. “They speak the truth. There are none that could criticize my decisions.” When the smith looked confused, Bilbo walked forward wrapping an arm around Thorin.

“What he is trying to hint at but is too modest to say is that he is the Heir of Durin,” Bilbo said with a gentle smile. When it was clear that Tom was still confused, Bilbo decided to elaborate further. “Thorin _was_ the king of the dwarves before some . . . _unfortunate_ circumstances changed it and the throne passed to his cousin. Even so, he can do as he will and not be in trouble for it.  To think,” Bilbo said looking up at Thorin with humor dancing in his hazel eyes, “I just accused you of being modest. That is something I _never_ thought that I would say about you,” Thorin elbowed Bilbo gently at the snide remark on his humility, or lack thereof.

“He’s a king!?” Tom gasped. The idea that a _king_ would be working in his forge left him flabbergasted. He knew that dwarves—even their women—were capable smiths but a _king?_

“I _was_ a king,” Thorin said with an exasperated glance at Bilbo. It hadn’t been humility that had caused him to attempt to hold that information, but rather it had been an attempt to keep from upsetting his relationship with the smith overmuch.

“I’m just a dwarf now,” Thorin continued. “True, I still have respect and the power of my name, but I have no real power anymore and no kingdom to call my own. I only wish to live the rest of my life in peace. That includes working when I can. I hope that this new knowledge will not affect our agreement.”

“Not at all!” Tom replied suddenly. “It doesn’t affect our deal in the least! And if you want to live an ordinary life—not that I would tell you how to conduct your business, mind—I would keep that _little_ fact a secret.”

“Did you hear that?” Thorin asked with a hard look at his lover. “We need to keep my lineage _secret_.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Thorin Oakenshield!” Bilbo snapped playfully. “ _You_ were the one telling the hobbits in the market that we were married before reclaiming _your kingdom_. You have given up the secret as much as I have and you did it first.” Thorin at least had the shame to look embarrassed. He had forgotten that he had said that to the child.

“Well, if the secret is already out, I’d say prepare yourselves,” Tom said with a laugh. “Hobbits may not have royalty, but they liked you well enough before and now . . . it may take you forever to get anywhere for quite some time.”

“In that case,” Thorin said with a sigh, “we had better head home. Though this is not the longest I have kept Bilbo from a meal I doubt that he will be pleased with me if I delay it much longer.” Tom said nothing more but gave them a nod of farewell as he finished closing up the forge for the night. As they walked away, Tom couldn’t help but stare after them wondering how in Middle Earth Mad Bilbo Baggins had wound up with a dwarf King for a lover. He wished he could say that stranger things had happened, but if they had, he didn’t know about them. 


	19. The Past, a Request and a Deal

“So, Frodo,” Gandalf said with a smile for the young hobbit as they sat in the garden while Gandalf had a smoke. He truly did love the Shire, with all the peace and quiet there and all the green and growing things. Bilbo’s garden was especially beautiful. The weather was warm enough that none of the flowers were suffering from the cold and the rain had been plentiful enough that year that all of their blossoms were lovely. A busy wizard Gandalf may have been, but even he could appreciate the beauty of a garden in full bloom.

“What do you think of your Uncle Bilbo’s mate?” Gandalf asked. He was genuinely curious what Frodo made of the situation. The boy was sharp and had good instincts. If he felt that something was off with Thorin, even if Gandalf couldn’t sense it just yet, he would believe him.

“I like him,” Frodo said with a smile. “He’s been nothing but kind to me and he makes Uncle Bilbo so happy. I do wish that they were not quite so affectionate but . . .”

“Oh, Frodo my lad, that is only natural,” Gandalf assured him with a laugh. “They have not seen each other in sixty years after all. They _may_ calm in time. They _were_ newly-bonded when they were separated.” He was pleased _that_ was the only concern that Frodo had about the situation. He knew that Bilbo and Thorin could be a bit _overbearing_ at times when they were together, be it when they were fighting and making life uncomfortable for everyone during the quest or when they were mooning over each other like lovesick fools. He smiled indulgently at the thought. The two of them truly were a good match.

“But something about him confuses me, Gandalf,” Frodo said, his brows pulling together as he tried to put his discomfort into words. While he believed what the others had said, he knew that Gandalf would give him a straight answer on the matter—if he answered at all, that was.

“What confuses you, Frodo?” the wizard asked, his heart constricting painfully within him. Part of him had known that it was too good to be true: Thorin coming back from the dead. He had known that it would not last. Bilbo’s poor heart would only be broken again, though he had hoped that he was just being cynical.

“Thorin . . . he . . . he seems to love Uncle Bilbo very much,” the hobbit said slowly. The wizard nodded. Even a blind man could see how much that dwarf cared for Bilbo. “How did he do it? Everyone says that he tried to kill Bilbo but . . . I don’t see how he could have. He _loves_ him. Surely he wouldn’t have tried to kill him over a stone. Thorin isn’t . . . he doesn’t _seem_ violent. I don’t understand it.” Gandalf sighed tiredly. This wasn’t what he had feared would be said but it was still a difficult thing to explain.

“That is a hard thing for me to explain, Frodo,” Gandalf breathed. “I was not there to witness it myself but . . . Thorin’s family has a long history of, well, madness. Gold madness specifically. You are right when you say that Thorin is not violent—unless you are a Goblin, Orc, Warg or someone threatening his family, that is—or at least he is not violent when he is in his right mind. The sight of the gold . . . from what I heard, it drove him mad.

“From what the others have told me, he was not himself. He did not eat or sleep. His only focus was on the gold and one treasure in particular.”

“The Arkenstone,” Frodo said. Gandalf nodded sadly.

“The same,” the wizard agreed, sadness etched into every line of his ancient face. “Your uncle, bless his soul, found it and rather than give it to Thorin tried to end a war with it. He couldn’t have predicted the outcome of his actions, though anyone else could have. What you have to understand about Thorin Oakenshield . . . he had experienced much loss in his life. More than any being _should_.

“He lost his mother the day that Smaug took Erebor from them when he was only twenty-four—still very much a child to the dwarves—and then a scant twenty-nine years later his grandfather and younger brother were killed in battle. Fifty-one years after that his father disappeared leaving him to take the mantle of King and leaving him with just his sister and two young nephews as family.

“That is not to speak on the other losses he suffered. He lost his kingdom, his dignity . . . he lost everything. Due to all those losses, by the time your uncle came along, Thorin had walled himself off from everyone. He was cold, not _cruel_ but he did not truly allow himself to become attached to things or people for fear of losing them as well.” Gandalf paused and a gentle smile crossed his face before he continued.

“Your uncle,” Gandalf said, his eyes shining with pride, “Bilbo is one of the most _extraordinary_ beings I have ever met in my life. Not only did he singlehandedly save the quest from failure more than once, he also managed to sneak his way past Thorin’s defenses. _That_ , my boy, is part of the reason they are so incorrigible. Thorin and Bilbo had both been isolated for far too long and when they found someone to cling to . . . well, can we _truly_ fault them for being exuberant about it?”

“But how does any of that explain what he did?” Frodo asked. He wasn’t sure why Gandalf had told him any of that. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to know about his uncle’s lover, but all it did was make his heart ache for the dwarf. Especially since he knew that Thorin had also lost his nephews. It seemed cruel that he had been forced to endure so much loss.

“It explains it,” Gandalf offered closing his eyes at the pain of the memory. “Bilbo was the _one_ being that Thorin trusted other than his family and Bilbo took the one treasure that was the most precious to him and—instead of giving it to him—gave it to the armies that were marching on him. I am _not_ defending his actions. He was wrong in what he did to Bilbo. However, I can understand _why_ he felt betrayed. He trusted Bilbo, brought him into his home, let him into his _heart_ , and Bilbo stole from him to give to people making war on him. It wasn’t only gold madness that caused Thorin to lash out at your uncle as he did: it was heartbreak. Bilbo broke his heart. Unintentionally, but he did it all the same.”

“So did Uncle Bilbo get the same lecture that Thorin did?” Frodo asked in curiosity. He couldn’t quite imagine Gandalf _truly_ lecturing Bilbo . . . at least not successfully. And the mental image of his uncle, who approximately half of Gandalf’s size, glaring up at the wizard and saying “no Gandalf, _you_ see here” nearly made the young hobbit laugh.

“Heavens no!” Gandalf said, looking affronted that Frodo would suggest such a thing. “Your uncle was _heartbroken_ , nearly inconsolable. And then Thorin died and it was not appropriate to explain to him _why_ he had gotten the reaction he had. Bilbo was depressed enough about Thorin’s death. I did not feel the need to rub salt in his wounds by telling him that their falling out was due to a misunderstanding of Thorin’s past on his part. I am many things, Frodo Baggins, cruel is not one of them.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were, Gandalf,” Frodo offered looking up at the wizard with a sad smile.

“I know you didn’t, my dear boy. I know you did not,” Gandalf replied patting Frodo’s shoulder gently. “I apologize for my anger. This was an unpleasant topic and I was . . .”

“Don’t worry, Gandalf,” Frodo offered with a bright smile on his face. He knew better than to be cross with Gandalf for his flare of temper. Bilbo had always warned him that the wizard—and wizards in general—was quick to anger and not likely to give straight answers unless it suited him and that Frodo would just have to live with that if he wanted to live at all.

“Hobbits really are much too forgiving,” Gandalf said with a fond smile. He may have been talking to Frodo, but it was not just Frodo on his mind. As he spoke, Bilbo’s crumbled tear-streaked face in the Elf/Human camp at the base of the Lonely Mountain swam to the front of his memory. He only hoped that it would be an expression he would never see again.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Inside Bag End, the dwarves were also discussing the past. The second that Frodo and Gandalf had shut the door behind them Balin and Bofur had rounded on Dwalin wordlessly demanding that he tell them what he had seen sixty years ago. Dwalin looked at them levelly for a moment.

“Brother, Bofur, I will only ask this once,” Dwalin said solemnly. “What I saw has haunted me since I had the unfortunate experience of walking in on them. Are you certain that you _truly_ want to know?”

“With a lead up like that?” Bofur said, his usual cocky grin in place. “Of course I do. If it can haunt _you_ , I _have_ to know!” Balin, while less vocal, also agreed with a nod of his head. Dwalin sighed deeply before he began to recount the scene that he had been the unfortunate witness to sixty years before. As he spoke both Bofur and Balin paled considerably and their eyes went wide in shock.

“Bilbo was . . . _he_ was . . .” Bofur said trying to wrap his head around the idea that Bilbo was doing _that_ to Thorin. He would never have figured that the king would allow something like _that_ to happen.

“ _While_ he was . . . is that even possible?” Balin asked, a confused and vaguely disgusted look on his face. He had considered himself a rather adventurous dwarf in his youth but . . . he’d never done _anything_ to rival that. To think, a dwarf had been beaten in the realm of sexual adventurism by a _hobbit_.

“Apparently,” Dwalin said dryly. “Bilbo was doing it so it must be.”

“And Thorin was _letting_ him?” Bofur insisted. “He wasn’t . . . tied up or something?”

“I saw many things,” Dwalin replied with a shudder as the image of naked pale flesh against naked tanned, haired flesh streaked through his mind once more, “bonds weren’t one of them.” The two dwarves that hadn’t witnessed the event shared horrified glances. If it wasn’t for the fact that _Dwalin_ had been traumatized by it they would have accused him of having one over on them. It was just too outrageous. There was no way that _Bilbo_ had been . . . no it was too much. They were only sure of one thing: they would never be able to look at their ex-king or their ex-burglar the same way again.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin and Bilbo had been walking in a companionable silence ever since they left the forge. The night was quiet and there was no one about. The dwarf had been thinking about the conversation he and Bilbo had had earlier all day and he had come to a decision. Now all he had to do was convince Bilbo that it was a good idea. Not an easy task. The hobbit was more stubborn than most dwarves Thorin had met in his life time. Perhaps surprising him with it would be his best bet.

“A hobbit,” Thorin said suddenly. Bilbo looked at him as though he had lost his mind. That was a rather random thing for the dwarf to say and Thorin rarely said random things. Even if he was more talkative now than he had been at the beginning of the quest, he never said things that did not need saying in some way.

“I’m sorry?” Bilbo asked quietly. If he hadn’t been sure that he heard an “a” in front of the word “hobbit” he might have assumed that Thorin was addressing him as he had at the start of the quest.

“I’ve thought about it and if we get a child I would like it to be a hobbit,” Thorin clarified, looking warily at Bilbo. He wasn’t sure how his lover was going to take the fact that he hadn’t dropped the subject. At the first _hint_ of madness he was prepared to let if pass for now.

“Really?” Bilbo said, his tone showing his surprise. “I’d figured that you would want a dwarf. They’re sturdier than hobbits and you could teach it all manner of dwarvish things that you can’t teach a hobbit.”

“Aye, dwarves are sturdier than hobbits,” Thorin replied with a smile, “but that is irrelevant. Hobbits have a surprising strength in them. I can still teach a hobbit many things that I would teach a dwarfling. As my adopted child I can technically teach it whatever I desire. It will be an honorary dwarf, much like you, âzyungâl.” Bilbo could tell that Thorin had used the Khuzdul word both because he knew that Bilbo liked it and to prove his point that he had already allowed Bilbo into the secret world of the dwarves.

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed, “but would it not be easier with a dwarfling?”

“It might be,” Thorin said with a shrug. “However a dwarfling poses additional problems. Not only are dwarflings rare, they age very slowly. If we were to adopt one less than fifty years old it is possible that even I would not be able to see it to maturity. It would not do to adopt an orphan only to orphan it again. Hobbits, with your shorter lifespans, do not pose this challenge. Even if we were to somehow acquire a newborn, I’m nearly guaranteed another sixty years of life—unless something comes along to end me prematurely—I would nearly see our child to the end of his or her life.”

“That makes sense,” Bilbo said. “So a hobbitling. Do you have a preference on gender? I’m not saying that we will be able to choose something like that, or that I am agreeing to this just yet, but if we are planning we may as well do it right.” Thorin felt a smirk cross his features and thanked Mahal that it was dark enough that Bilbo could not see it. If Bilbo was planning that far ahead the battle was won. It was like Balin had said about the settlement and Thorin moving in: Bilbo just wanted to drag his feet a bit and bluster about before he consented to it. But he would consent in the end.

“I would prefer . . . I believe I would like a little she-hobbit,” Thorin said with a smile. He had already raised two boys and girls were so rare among the dwarves. Even had he had children of his own the odds of having a daughter had been slim. If he could choose, he would like a daughter. He had no kingdom to worry about needing an heir for and this would make it easier on the succession at any rate. Even if she was not a dwarf, any child of his _would_ be of the senior line to the throne and _could_ disinherit Dáin’s son. A daughter would eliminate this difficulty as daughters were ineligible to rule.

“A she-hobbit?” Bilbo asked with a laugh. “You do know that they are nothing but trouble, right? There’s a reason I never married a hobbit lass.”

“I’m glad that you think so,” Thorin said, pulling his lover against him and leaning down to plant a tender kiss on his lips. “Had you have married a hobbit lass I would never have been able to claim you as my own. However, after the two terrors _I_ have already raised a little she-hobbitling can’t be any trouble.” At his words Bilbo’s eyes grew sad and he raised a hand to gently stroke Thorin’s face with the pad of his thumb.

“Are you _sure_ that you want to do this?” Bilbo asked. “I do not actually _need_ a child. I don’t want you to feel that you need to do this to please me. I know that it won’t be easy for you. Not with . . .”

“I’m certain,” Thorin promised. “I would like to raise a child with you. Yes, at times it may hurt me but I . . . it will be worth it. That may be the other reason I want a hobbitling rather than a dwarfling. I hadn’t realized it until now, but that could be a factor. A little dwarfling . . . even if it didn’t look like _them_ . . . I’m not sure that I could endure that.”

“You don’t have to endure it at all if you don’t wish to,” Bilbo reminded him. Even as he looked at his lover he could see the pain fading to determination and knew that Thorin _truly_ wanted this. Bilbo had never been able to deny the dwarf anything and he knew that in the end this would be no different. Even if he was far too old for this, he knew that soon he would become a father.

“I’ll agree to this,” Bilbo said with a resigned sigh. “You can have your little she-hobbit _if_ we can find one. On _one_ condition.”

“Name it,” Thorin breathed. He couldn’t believe that Bilbo had given in so quickly. He had expected this to take months of careful hints and coercion to get Bilbo to agree. He figured that the condition would be something about Bilbo not being the one to change diapers or something to that effect. He should have known better. Bilbo was a shrewd little creature and knew that he held a powerful bargaining chip.

“Before we try to find to find a child, _you_ have to go talk to the mother of your boys,” Bilbo said, his tone allowing for no argument. “You have to _at least_ _attempt_ to make peace with your sister.” Thorin sighed. Of course _that_ would be the condition he had agreed to without asking to hear it first. That was evil of Bilbo. But Thorin could see no way around it. He wanted to try to find a child and he needed to attempt to make peace with Dís _and_ he had already agreed to it.

“Fine,” Thorin said sadly. “I will try to make peace with my sister. You are aware that you may be forcing me to my death, are you not?” Bilbo scoffed at that, thinking that Thorin was being melodramatic. “I am not joking. Dís may very well behead me. I took her _sons_ , Bilbo. She won’t forgive me even if I come to her on my knees. She’s _not_ going to be pleased to see me.”

“Well then,” Bilbo said with a sad smile, “I suppose that I’ll have to come with you then.” Thorin snorted at that. He had a sudden mental picture of Bilbo standing between him and Dís, brandishing Sting and telling his sister that she was not to touch him. What he didn’t have the heart to tell Bilbo was that Dís was more formidable than Bilbo could ever imagine. He would stand no chance against her . . . or he wouldn’t have sixty years ago. Thorin didn’t know if Dís could still wield an axe or not, though he assumed that she still could. He knew that he’d probably find out. He tried to keep his voice light and clung to the funnier mental image than the last depressing thought.

“You will defend me from my sister?” Thorin asked wryly, lifting an eyebrow at the idea.

“I’ll try if that’s what it comes down to,” Bilbo replied. “I was actually thinking more along the lines of ‘I’ll come along so that if she kills you she can kill me too.’ I don’t want to outlive you _again_. Not so soon.” By the end of his speech all the laughter was gone from his voice and he sounded as though he was near tears. Thorin pulled him into his chest, burying his nose in the soft curls and breathing in his scent as Bilbo fought for control of his emotions.

“I won’t let that happen,” Thorin promised. It was a baseless promise and they both knew it. Thorin could no more assure his own survival than he could predict the weather or remember directions. “I won’t force you to live without me again, my dear Bilbo.” Once Bilbo was in control once more, they resumed the walk home.

Neither of them knew what the future would bring, but they were content that they had a workable plan for the time being. Thorin would visit Dís, a small army of dwarves was going to descend on the Shire, and they were going to adopt a hobbitling. It looked like a brilliant plan. However, both of them had enough experience with “brilliant” plans to know that _something_ was going to go wrong. They just didn’t know what it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are all, another chapter out. I hope that you enjoyed it. And if you are just dying of curiosity about what exactly Thorin and Bilbo were doing, chapter two of “Past and Present Entwined” is called ‘Traumatizing Dwalin’ and gives you as much detail as you want :)


	20. Madness Exposed and Depression

As had happened the night before, dinner was on the table by the time Thoirn and Bilbo made it home. Only that day, no snide comments greeted them. The others were seated at the table waiting patiently for them to return. Frodo and Gandalf were chatting amicably still while Balin, Dwalin and Bofur were staring blankly at the table in an effort to look anywhere but a Bilbo and Thorin. Balin and Bofur were regretting their decision to force Dwalin to tell them what he had seen. And it was a situation that only became more awkward when Bilbo began speaking with Gandalf.

“Did you two have a pleasant evening?” Gandalf asked with a smile as he watched Thorin and Bilbo sit down side by side on the bench and Bilbo move closer to Thorin before the dwarf wrapped an arm around the hobbit and began to eat with one hand.

“It was hot,” Bilbo said with a sigh. “I don’t know how he manages to stand it so well. I was sweating just watching him. I even had to go outside to cool off more than once. But he never even needed a break.”

“Dwarves are made for forges, Bilbo,” Thorin reminded him gently. “Our skin is thicker and better able to resist the heat. If it is too uncomfortable for you, you truly do no need to accompany me to work. I’ve been there twice now, I am sure that I can find my way home again.”

“I enjoy watching you work,” Bilbo countered. “It is . . . nice to see you focused so intently on something. When that something isn’t your rage at me, that is.”

“My dear hobbit, I have not raged at you in more than sixty years,” Thorin replied. “And, if I remember correctly, you tended to enjoy what came after the rages.”

“I did,” Bilbo agreed with a smirk. “Most of the time anyway.”

“Why would you . . . oh!” Frodo said blushing as he realized why Bilbo would enjoy the aftermath of Thorin’s rage. It wasn’t just Frodo who was blushing at the thought of what Bilbo had just said. A slight flush had crept up all the dwarves’ necks as they wondered if Thorin _enjoyed_ the consequences of enraging the hobbit as well. Even though none of the truly wanted to know they couldn’t help but wonder if Bilbo _took_ his revenge from Thoirn for his grievances or if they simply talked those out.

“So, Thorin,” Balin said trying to change the subject back to forging rather than the turn that it had taken, “how are you liking working as a blacksmith once more.” Balin was rewarded with a soft smile that made his heart soar. He had never seen such a peaceful expression on Thorin’s face since they were children.

“It pleases me,” Thorin replied. “While my heart will always wish that I was able to work with more precious metals than iron, I cannot deny that I am enjoying it. And the hobbit smith, Tom, he’s a kind, honest person. That is one more complication that we will have to address. I know that we talked of opening a forge here, but if we do it will put him out of business.” Thorin paused a moment looking at each of them before he continued.

“This is an unacceptable outcome,” Thorin continued. “He has shown me a great kindness by opening his forge to me. He has already allowed me to earn the reward I was promised.” The others exchanged looks at that. It had only been two days. Surely Thorin hadn’t done enough work in two days to pay for the materials for a sword. “I will _not_ repay his kindness by ruining him.”

“What else can we do in the Shire?” Balin asked quietly. “Bofur can make toys but …”

“The way I see it we have a couple of options,” Thorin replied. “Most of you—no, _all_ of the company that will be coming with you still have to be wealthy. There is no way that any of you have gone through your fourteenth even in sixty years. The first option is that you could all move here and _not_ work but instead spend your days in leisure.” There was a bit of an outcry at that. Dwarves were above all else craftsmen and the idea that they would spend the rest of their lives idle was ludicrous. Thorin smiled into his beard as he took in their angered protests. He had known that they would react poorly to that statement and that it would make his next suggestion all the easier to accept.

“There is another way,” Thorin said in a slightly raised voice, his hand in the air to signal that he desired quiet. They fell silent at the gesture through years of practice at following him, but their glares did not lessen. “We could _merge_ the forges. He could work with us and bring all of his clients with him. Our fame as skilled smiths would draw even more from the surrounding lands. Few are willing to travel to Ered Luin or Erebor for dwarven craftsmanship but would be willing to travel to the Shire. We can even work on different things. With enough of us there, we could all take time to work on what we truly wish rather than just iron.”

“You want us to merge forges with a _hobbit_?” Dwalin breathed. Thorin had to be mad! There was no way that any self-respecting dwarf smith would work side-by-side with a hobbit.

“And just what is wrong with hobbits, Dwalin?” Bilbo demanded glaring at the dwarf from across the table, the now-familiar spark that Thorin had come to both hate and fear in his hazel eyes. “You seemed rather keen to move in amongst us before. What is wrong with working with one?”

“Bilbo,” Thorin whispered gently trying to calm Bilbo before this could escalate into an argument. He stood a chance if Dwalin saw the warning signs and would keep his mouth closed. “Dwalin didn’t mean anything offensive by it. He was only—“

“What’s wrong with working with one is that a hobbit will only slow us down,” Dwalin snapped glaring back at Bilbo in return. “Nothing against your race, Bilbo, but you neither have the strength nor the endurance of the dwarves. What you said about the forge proves it. You had to leave. Every second spent outside cooling off is a second that could have been spent at work. Hobbits have no place in dwarven forges.” If Thorin could have reached Dwalin without releasing Bilbo he would have smacked him upside the head for that. There was no way that with the madness stirring Bilbo would let such a statement go unanswered. He sighed as he heard Bilbo’s enraged intake of air.

“As if dwarves are so wonderful!” Bilbo snapped rising angrily to his feet and nearly upending the bench in the process. “If you remember, despite my lack of strength and endurance I _still_ managed to save _your_ worthless hide more than once. If it wasn’t for me, _a hobbit_ , you would be dead and not able to say such foolish things! Why—“

“Bilbo, please,” Thorin said taking his hand and trying to pull him back into his seat. “Please, Dwalin meant no disrespect to hobbits. Just sit. He is sorry that he upset you, aren’t you Dwalin?”

“I am?” Dwalin asked in confusion just as Bilbo snorted and said, “He’s not. He meant every word that he said.”

“No,” Thorin promised standing to pull the irate hobbit against him when it was clear that Bilbo would not sit. The stiffness in the way that Bilbo held himself away from Thorin hurt him but he did not let go. Instead he held Bilbo more tightly against him and bent to whisper in his ear.

“He did not mean it,” Thorin whispered fervently as he stroked Bilbo’s hair. “Dwalin does not think that hobbits are worthless. He doesn’t think that _you_ are worthless and you are a hobbit. And he cares for Frodo, does he not. Frodo is a hobbit. Calm yourself, âzyungâl. It was not meant as it came across. He is only concerned about our ancient secrets, not the worth of hobbits. Just breathe.” He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt Bilbo begin to relax into his touch. The madness was passing. This time.

“That’s it,” Thorin praised. “Just like that. Relax.” Suddenly with a shudder Bilbo relaxed fully against him before pulling back and looking at him through sad hazel eyes.

“Again?” Bilbo asked sadly. Thorin said nothing but his eyes said it for him. Bilbo had lost himself again. “I . . . I think that I will . . . I’m going to have a bath,” Bilbo said in a shaky voice before he turned and walked out of the room leaving his dinner on the table untouched.

Once he was gone, the others turned to Thorin.

“What was that about?” Bofur demanded. “Why did he . . . what Dwalin said wasn’t _that_ bad. Why did it upset him so much?”  Thorin sighed and sat back down before resting his head in his hands. He knew that he was going to have to tell them eventually. Bilbo would not stop his descent into madness just because Thorin wished it and perhaps if they knew they could help to avoid these trips before they happened. They needed to know, he just wasn’t sure how to tell them.

“How long has it been since you all have seen Bilbo?” he asked in return as he looked from one concerned face to another. He had wondered just how long this had been going on and this was his chance to discover it.

“I don’t—“ Balin begain.

“Please, just answer the question,” Thoirn said with a sigh. “It is important.”

“How long has it been, lads?” Balin asked in confusion. “Seven, eight years. Why?”

“Gandalf?” Thorin asked looking at the wizard hopefully. Perhaps he could narrow the window of time further. “How long as it been since you have visited?”

“A year, more or less,” Gandalf replied. “I come to see him as often as I can and every year near his birthday. Why do you ask?”

“Have any of you noticed anything strange about him in any of your previous visits?” Thorin asked rather than answer their questions. “Any random changes in mood. Anger that seems to come from nowhere.”

“You mean like what happened the other day in the market and again in the entry?” Dwalin asked. Thorin nodded sadly. “No,” Dwalin said. “He’s never done anything like that before. If he had I probably would not have come back to visit him again.” Thorin nodded.

“What happened the other day at the market?” Gandalf asked, concern in his voice at the fact that Bilbo had done something that would prevent Dwalin from returning to visit him again. The two of them had grown close over the years, despite their initial opinions of one another.

“Bilbo . . . Bilbo lost his temper over a comment Dwalin made about his private life with me,” Thorin replied. “It wasn’t even a graphic comment. And then once we returned home, he . . .” Thorin trailed off not wanting to bring up what had happened next. He was _still_ thankful that Dwalin had decided to forgive Bilbo for hitting him.

“Bilbo what?” Gandalf pressed, his brows coming together as he listened to the erratic behavior that Bilbo had been demonstrating lately. It troubled him.

“He punched me,” Dwalin said his own tone edging towards anger. “All I said was that if he under too much stress that he and Thorin should just take the edge off and he _punched_ me in the nose. It was rather impressive,” he continued, laughter in his tone now. “He even managed to draw blood.”

“ _Bilbo_ punched you in the nose and drew blood?” Gandalf asked incredulously. “The same Bilbo who did everything in his power to prevent bloodshed. I don’t believe it.”

“He did,” Bofur confirmed. “Took both me and Balin to keep him from doing more. I didn’t know that Bilbo was that strong. You may be wrong about hobbit’s being weaker than dwarves, Dwalin. He almost overpowered two of us to get to you.”

“He nearly overpowered you _and_ Balin?” Gandalf asked growing more concerned the more that he heard. This was quite unlike Bilbo. And it _should_ have been beyond his physical capabilities to overpower _one_ of the dwarves, let alone two. No there was something else at work here. Something sinister.

“But that was the last of it until tonight,” Balin said quietly. “He’s been normal ever since.”

“No,” Thorin disagreed sadly. “He hasn’t. Yesterday when we were in the market it happened again. He was jealous of the way the other hobbits were speaking with me and . . . and I realized what it was that we have been seeing. Bilbo . . . when he gets like that, it’s not _him_ behind his eyes. He’s gone and in his place is something cruel and cold. It says thing that Bilbo never would.”

“Does it lie?” Gandalf asked suddenly his blue eyes boring into Thorin and pinning the dwarf on the spot. At the mention of the split personalities Gandalf was suddenly and forcefully reminded of the creature Gollum that Bilbo had met in the Misty Mountains and the Ring that he had possessed. The Ring that Bilbo now had. Gandalf had always felt uneasy around that little bit of gold and there were too many coincidences piling up to be overlooked any longer. The Ring needed to be separated from Bilbo.

“I don’t believe so,” Thorin said, fighting back tears at what Bilbo had said to him while under the sway of the madness. “I believe that it speaks the truth, but it is a _dark_ painful truth. He . . . he had a lapse this morning. We were talking about braids and he . . . he went mad. He got that look in his eyes and . . . he talked about what happened _that day_.” None of them needed to ask which day Thorin was referring to. They all knew that there was only one day Bilbo could bring up that would torture Thorin so.

“What did he say?” Gandalf prompted. It was important for him to know what the other personality had said. If it had spoken the truth . . . Gandalf almost hoped that it had lied. If it was speaking the truth, even a twisted version of it . . . he needed to know.

“Please, Gandalf,” Thorin begged. “Don’t make me relive that. It was painful enough the first time. I know that Bilbo would never say such things to me, but even if it wasn’t his eyes that were looking at me it was his voice that the words were in and his mouth that were forming them. Please don’t make me relive that.”

“Thorin,” Gandalf said gently, placing a hand on the back of the upset dwarf’s. Even if he was pleased to see that Thorin was capable of such openness it hurt him to see such pain and regret in another being. “Thorin, I may be able to help.” The hope in Thorin’s blue eyes broke Gandalf’s heart and he regretted ever thinking that the dwarf was back for an ill purpose.

“However for me to be able to do anything I _must_ know if the other personality lies,” Gandalf said levelly. “Now, what did he say to you?”

“He said . . . he told me that he was only alive because of you,” Thorin said unable to meet the wizard’s eyes due to his embarrassment over the situation. “He said that I would never have shown him mercy even had he have begged and that if it wasn’t for you the last sound I would have heard from him would have been his screams of terror and agony as I threw him to his death.”  The others winced at the pain in Thorin voice as he repeated Bilbo’s accusations. Those were harsh words. While they were true, _Bilbo_ would never have said them. Not to Thorin.

“He also said that he would have died knowing that I had killed him,” Thorin whispered, his words choked with the tears he refused to shed. “And then . . . then he said that . . . that I nearly killed him anyway. Apparently the bruises from where I had grabbed him were deep enough that his arms were nearly useless . . . he said . . . he said that the bruises lasted nearly a month and that if . . . if it hadn’t been for his magic Ring he would have died in the battle . . . because of me.” Gandalf felt his eyes widen in surprise. Not only had Bilbo not lied, he had mentioned the Ring as his salvation. It did not bode well. Gandalf had always intended to separate Bilbo from the Ring after this birthday but now he knew that it was more important than ever that it happen. Bilbo would have to be parted from the Ring. For the first time he realized just how difficult a task this might be.

“Thorin,” Balin said reaching across the table to grab the other dwarf’s hand, “he didn’t mean it. Bilbo would never—“

“No, Bilbo would never,” Thorin agreed. “But that doesn’t mean that what he said wasn’t true. Tell me, Gandalf, you traveled with him on his trip home, he told me. How long did the bruises last?”

“Throin,” Gandalf said gently. “Do not torture yourself with this. Much like with what passed between you and Bilbo this morning, you were not yourself. You would never touch Bilbo in such a way. You do not need to ask me that. I know what I needed to know. We can allow this matter to drop.”

“Answer me,” Thorin ordered. “How long did the bruises I left on his skin last? Were they truly there for a month?”

“They were,” Gandalf replied sadly. “I saw them the evening after you banished him and they were black-purple. Over the next few weeks they faded. Even once they were mostly gone you could still see the discoloration for a little over a month if you knew where to look. But, Thorin, just like with Bilbo now, _you_ did not do that to him. He knows it. Elsewise you would not now be sitting here at his table.” Throin couldn’t help but smile at Gandalf’s words. Once, the wizard’s meddling and advice would have angered him but now . . . now he took comfort in the fact that Gandalf, at least, understood.

“What I told you,” Thorin asked hopefully, “did it help? Can you help me to help him stave off this madness? I _can’t_ lose him, Gandalf. Not again.”

“I do not know that I can fix this,” Gandalf relied honestly. “But I do believe that I know the cause of it. It may take both of us to accomplish it, and we will have to be careful about it, but I do believe that I can at the very least keep this from growing any worse. I cannot promise that the brief lapses will stop entirely, but I do believe that what I have planned will keep us from losing him to it entirely.”

“That is more than I had hoped for,” Throin replied honestly. “What do I need to do?” While Gandalf and Thorin planned, the others went into the sitting room to give them some space. They were all unnerved by what they had just learned but none more so than Dwalin.

 He was furious with himself. Usually he was glad to be the one that had accomplished things most frequently—as with his record in making poor Frodo faint—but this? It was a record that he did not want. His friend was suffering from madness and something about him seemed to provoke it. This was the third time that he had done it. And he hadn’t even noticed that the Bilbo that was raging at him was not the Bilbo that he had known for _sixty_ years. He hadn’t recognized madness in a friend that he had had for _sixty_ years. He hated himself for not realizing it sooner.

“None of us knew, Brother,” Balin said quietly from beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “None of us realized what it meant. You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“Even I didn’t know,” Frodo offered sadly. “I’ve lived with him for twelve years and I didn’t realize that it was anything other than stress. There has been quite a lot of it lately, between the party and you lot and Thorin. It made sense to me that Bilbo’s temper would be a little short.”

“Thorin knew,” Bofur said suddenly, his face lacking any trace of his usual smile. “He hasn’t seen Bilbo in sixty years and _he_ knew.”

“Thorin knows Bilbo better than any of us ever could hope to,” Balin argued. “I’d wager that he has seen sides of him that no one else ever has or ever will.” Dwalin couldn’t help the shudder that ran through him at the words.

“I have no desire to see some of the _sides_ of Bilbo that Thorin has seen,” Dwalin managed to say in a choked voice.

“Nor do I,” Frodo agreed. “I may love my uncle, but I do not love him _that_ way.” They all agreed with Frodo and Dwalin. None of them had any desire to see their dear friend in _that_ position. But all of them would gladly endure the mental scarring if it meant that it would spare Bilbo from what he was currently going through.

**ooOO88OOoo**

For the first time since Thorin had returned, Bilbo was alone. There had been times in the past where he would have given or done almost anything for just an hour of solitude but now . . . he didn’t want it. He _wanted_ to be able to sit out there and talk and laugh with his old friends without worrying that he would suddenly snap without reason and assault one of them. Ever since Thorin had figured out what was going on he had been making active attempts to keep it from happening but it wasn’t fair of Bilbo to force him to do it. Thorin should not have to stay by his side and watch him for any sign of madness. It was cruel.

Bilbo knew for a fact just how difficult it was to watch someone you love turn into someone who you didn’t know: who you were afraid of. And it had to be doubly difficult for Thorin, who had already lost his grandfather to the madness, to have to _watch_ as Bilbo lost himself. At least when Thorin had gone mad it had been a sudden thing. One day he was Thorin and the next . . . he wasn’t. With this . . . Bilbo hated himself for what he was putting Thorin through. It was cruel.

Even at his angriest and most hurt Bilbo would _never_ have wished this on another. This was nothing short of torture for both of them. Bilbo, since he knew that he was hurting the one that he loved most in the world and because he _feared_ what he was becoming. He had seen it. He _knew_ what someone in the throes of madness was capable of. What he had already done. Even if Thorin didn’t hold his actions that morning against him, Bilbo did. He had held a sword to his lover’s throat. He had almost killed him. And Thorin . . . for the first time Bilbo began to wonder if the Valar were as good as he had been led to believe. He couldn’t help but wonder if they had brought Thorin to _this_ point in time just to punish him. If they had . . . he hated that he was the instrument of their torture.

Bilbo wasn’t sure how long he had sat alone in the bath with his dark thoughts but eventually he was startled by a pair of arms wrapping around him from behind and a gentle kiss to the side of his neck.

“I thought that you once told me that you would never take a cold bath again once the quest was done,” Thorin whispered.

“I haven’t,” Bilbo replied before clearing his throat at the hoarse sound of his own voice. “This was a hot bath.”

“ _Was_ ,” Thorin agreed. “The water’s gone cold, Bilbo. Come on, crawl out and I’ll run us a fresh one.”

“It’s fine,” Bilbo replied morosely. “I don’t deserve a warm bath. Maybe if we’re lucky I’ll catch another cold and put us both out of our misery.”

“Bilbo,“ Thorin sighed frustrated that Bilbo was feeling this upset over something that he had no control over and moving to try to look at Bilbo’s face, but the hobbit resolutely kept turning away from him.

“No,” Bilbo whispered brokenly. “We’d both be better off if I were dead. I can’t stand hurting you like this. I . . . I can’t control it, Thorin. And it’s getting worse. What will happen if—“

“Stop,” Thorin commanded gently as he grasped Bilbo’s chin and forced the hobbit to look at him. “Neither of us would be better off with you dead so you just put that thought out of your head, Bilbo Baggins. You are _not_ allowed to think like that.”

“But what I’m putting you through . . . it’s cruel. I should just . . .” Bilbo sobbed trying to pull away from Thorin, but the dwarf was not allowing it.

“No,” Thorin argued. “What would be cruel is for you to take your own life and force me to live out the remainder of my life alone. Not that it wouldn’t be fair since it is what I did to you, in essence, but _that_ would be cruel. Not this. This is _not_ your fault, Bilbo. I _do not_ hold this against you.”

“But, you shouldn’t have to—“

“How about you let me decide what I have to do when it comes to you, alright?” Thorin countered. “I think that I am old enough to make my own decisions about what I wish to do with my lover, am I not?”

“You are, but—“

“Then it’s decided. Now get out of the tub and let me change the water,” Thorin said in a no-nonsense voice. “ _You_ may not care about cold bathwater but _I_ do. I have taken far too many cold baths in my life and have no intention of taking another. Not when hot water is only a pipe away.”

“Fine,” Bilbo sighed. “But if you ever do get tired of dealing with me, I will understand if you leave. I wouldn’t blame you.” He stood to step out of the tub only realizing for the first time just how cold his water had actually grown. Even the warm air of the bathroom felt cold against his chilled skin.

“Foolish hobbit,” Thorin said as he pulled the still sopping Bilbo against him not missing the slight shivers that were running through the hobbit. “Haven’t you realized yet that I will not be parted from you again? You would have to kill me to get rid of me and I have already promised you that I will not allow that. You’re just going to have to tolerate me for the rest of your life.”

“I think I can live with that,” Bilbo said with a smile as he rested his head against Thorin’s chest, the steady beat beneath his cheek did more to soothe his fragile feelings than hundreds of words could have. It was the proof of what Thorin promised, that pulse. It was as strong and stable as the dwarf himself and Bilbo wasn’t sure how he had lived without it for so long. For the first time in a long time he was not preoccupied about what the future contained. He knew that there would be challenges, his own descent into madness among them, but he also knew that Thorin would be there with him through them all. It truly was something that he could live with.


	21. Depression and the Cruelty of Madness

It took some time to get them both bathed. Despite Bilbo’s promise that he would not actively end his own life, he was still upset by the twists fate had thrown their way and was not much help. He would follow direct orders and would hold himself in whatever position Thorin placed him in, but he would do nothing if it was not ordered of him. His face remained blank and he stared aimlessly into the distance with unseeing eyes. This listlessness broke Thorin’s heart almost more than the madness itself did. At least during the brief bouts of madness Bilbo still had fire within him. This . . . there was nothing left of the hobbit Thorin loved. Bilbo was broken and there was nothing that Thorin could do to fix him.

With gentle hands and soft, firm words, Thorin coaxed Bilbo out of the tub and back into clean clothes to make the trek through the house back to their room. Bilbo allowed himself to be led, but his eyes never rose to meet Thorin’s concerned gaze. Once there he sat listlessly on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands. Thorin spent a moment placing his things on the dresser before he turned to the hobbit.

“Bilbo,” he said, his voice holding the undercurrent of command that was all that seemed to reach his hobbit at the moment, “look at me.” While it was clear that the movement was a reluctant one, Bilbo complied with the order, though once he had Thorin almost wished that he would have refused. There was such pain in his hazel eyes that Thorin had no idea how to even begin to soothe it away.

“You can’t do this to yourself,” Thorin said kneeling before the hobbit and placing his hands gently on either side of Bilbo’s face. “You cannot continue to torture yourself like this.”

“Why not?” Bilbo replied miserably, reaching up slowly to touch Thorin’s cheek and run his thumb over the dwarf’s cheekbone just below his eye. “I can see what I have done to you. Even when you were dying your eyes didn’t hold this much pain. And it’s my fault!” With the last words he pulled his hand away and tried to turn his head only to be stopped by the inescapable force of Thorin’s hands.

“No,” Thorin disagreed. “It pains me to see you going through what you are going through, but that is not your fault, Bilbo. You cannot control the madness, you have told me as much yourself. I cannot hold you responsible for something that you have no control over any more than you can hold me responsible for the fact that I died. This. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”

“But—“

“No,” Thorin cut him off. “I will hear no more of this, Bilbo. If you want me to try to help you I will but I will _not_ listen to you blaming yourself for this. I _will not_ sit by and watch as you allow guilt to eat you whole. You are stronger than this, Bilbo Baggins. What happened to the hobbit that stood toe-to-toe with three trolls and tried to talk his way out of being eaten, and now you are going to allow your own guilt to devour you? What about the Bilbo Baggins that played riddles in the darkness of the Misty Mountains to keep from becoming a meal? You _are_ strong enough to survive this as well.

“Even if you don’t believe it, trust me,” Thorin continued with a deep sigh. “If you do not believe that you are stronger than this then clearly I know you better than you know yourself. You can defeat this, Bilbo. And . . . I am here to help. You are not alone in this, Bilbo. I am here. Gandalf is here. Dwalin, Balin and Bofur are here. And you have Frodo. That lad _loves_ you, Bilbo. We all do. Let us help.”

“How can I?” Bilbo asked, tears leaking from his eyes once more. “How can I do that, Thorin? It is not fair of me to force that on you. On them. You, all of you, deserve better than to babysit some mad hobbit and watch me to see if something innocent is about to turn me into a murderous _orc_. How can I ask that of you? How can I burden you like that?”

“You are not asking it, Bilbo,” Thorin said drawing the hobbit against him and laying them both on the bed. “We are offering it because we love you. You are no burden to me. You never have been. No matter what I may have once said. I love you and will take you as you are, madness included. All I will ask in return is that you not force me to watch as you berate yourself for things you have no control over. Does that sound fair?”

“I will try, Thorin,” Bilbo sighed resting his head on the dwarf’s shoulder. “I can make no promises but I _will_ try.”

“That’s all I ask,” Thorin replied pressing a gentle chaste kiss to Bilbo’s curls. “Sleep, âzyungâl,” Thorin whispered, stroking Bilbo’s back soothingly. “I am certain that things will look better in the morning.” Bilbo wasn’t sure that he agreed with Thorin, but the offer of sleep was too tempting to pass up. With the hope of a brief escape from his guilt and fear Bilbo allowed the soothing circles Thorin was tracing into his skin and the low humming coming from his chest to lull him into sleep.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin had been wrong. Things did not look better in the morning. In fact, things were even worse for poor Bilbo. Where before he had been able to pretend things were normal when he wasn’t in the middle of a fit of madness and delude himself that it had never happened, now . . . that was impossible. Even though Thorin had not told him that the others knew what was going on, Bilbo knew that they knew. It was there in the forced brightness of their smiles, their laughs. Even in the way that they had greeted him that morning.

It had taken Thorin some time to convince Bilbo that it was worth it to get up and get dressed. He didn’t feel up to it. Up to going out and seeing people and . . . anything more than going back to sleep was too much for him to consider. He felt so tired and at the same time . . . felt nothing. It had only been when Thorin had threatened to dress him like a child that Bilbo had flared somewhat back to life. His rage at the indignity of his lover doing such a thing to him giving him the energy to rise and dress. But once he did, he felt more drained than he had before.

“Thorin,” he had pleaded, his voice faint even to his own ears, “can’t I just stay in here today? Please.”

“What of food?” Thorin had replied. “I will not aid you in becoming more reclusive so that you can wallow in misery, Bilbo. If you want to eat you need to come to the table. Are you not hungry?” Bilbo meant to deny his hunger and protest his right to stay but his stomach chose that moment to give a loud rumble, even if Bilbo didn’t feel the discomfort that came from hunger. He didn’t feel anything outside of regret, shame and sorrow.

“I thought as much,” Thorin had said with a gentle smirk. “You missed dinner last night. Come,” he offered his hand to the hobbit waiting for Bilbo to accept it.

“I could survive missing more meals than that,” Bilbo had replied in a toneless voice. “I’ve missed more than one in the past. In fact, even the days that we ate well on the quest I missed four most days.”

“You will not miss another if I can help it,” Thorin sighed. “Now, come along.”

“I don’t feel hungry,” Bilbo confessed. “I don’t really _feel_ anything.” Thorin felt his blood freeze in his veins at the pronouncement. How could Bilbo feel nothing? He swallowed heavily and tried to keep his concern from his voice when next he spoke.

“In that case, come keep me company while I eat,” Thorin had countered. “Without you the only company I have is Bofur, Balin and Dwalin—who laugh at my expense—Frodo—who still seems to be a bit intimidated by me—and Gandalf, who . . . well, you know how well Gandalf and I get along. Will you truly condemn me to the fate of their company alone?” He was pleased to see the ghost of a smile on Bilbo’s face and the faintest spark of merriment in his hazel eyes.

“Very well, I will come sit at breakfast with you,” Bilbo sighed. “Pushy dwarf.”

“Eternally,” Thorin agreed. “Thank you for agreeing to this, Bilbo.” The hobbit gave no reply but accepted the proffered hand and allowed Thorin to pull him to his feet. With a long-suffering sigh, Bilbo allowed himself to be led out of his bedroom and into the excessively bright hall of his home and into the kitchen where more sound was emanating than should be allowed at any time let alone before breakfast.

“Good morning, all,” Thorin called to alert them to their presence. At his words all conversation ceased and everyone turned to look at him and Bilbo—who had moved so that he was slightly behind the dwarf, almost as if the stares of his friends and companions were arrows and Thorin a shield.

“Bilbo!” Bofur called with even more than his usual cheer before standing and moving towards Thorin and the hobbit in question. It broke his heart to see how reserved and timid Bilbo had become overnight. This was worse than he had been at the start of the quest. The hobbit seemed to be afraid of them. Thorin was right. The madness was taking Bilbo away from them. There was hardly anything left of the intelligent, courageous and witty hobbit that had gone questing with them and managed to cow a King into submission on more than one occasion. The Bilbo before him was just a shell. One that would break if not handled carefully. Realizing this, he changed tactics. When he continued, his voice was soft, one to be used with a skittish animal, not a long-time friend.

 “I take it you slept well?” Bofur said gently, his smile soft and only his eyes showing the pain he felt at seeing his friend like this. “Come! We have breakfast ready. We cooked all of your favorites.”

“Yes!” Balin agreed, his voice falling nearly painfully on Bilbo’s ears with the cheer that had been forced into it and causing the hobbit to flinch. “We even cooked mushrooms. Frodo was kind enough to show us how it should be done. Claimed that we were just going to ruin them.”

“You were,” Frodo replied with a laugh. “They were trying to cook them in oil, Uncle. OIL! And with naught but pepper for seasoning! Dwarves know _nothing_ of how to cook decent mushrooms. But don’t worry. I set them straight before they could ruin them.”

“That you did, lad,” Dwalin said, his voice soft, gentle, with his repentance for his part in Bilbo’s trips into insanity. He had vowed to himself that he would do nothing to provoke Bilbo that day. His heart would not allow it. If he was to be the cause of madness, he would be sure that he could find no fault in his actions.

“You have a smart lad, Bilbo,” Dwalin praised, knowing that it had been his perceived lack of value of hobbits and their culture that had caused most of their arguments. “I never knew that there was a correct way to cook mushrooms before, but they _do_ smell delicious. Perhaps I will have to try them.” Dwalin cursed himself as Bilbo’s blank face took on a pained expression. He knew then that he had overdone it and hurt the hobbit in a different way. It seemed lately that he could do nothing right as far as his interactions with Bilbo Baggins were concerned.

Dwalin’s overcompensation for his part in Bilbo’s anger was the first thing to get through to the hobbit since Thorin had spoken to him in the bath. If _Dwalin_ was treating him delicately . . . it was only a sign of just how damaged he had become.  If _Dwalin,_ the most dwarvish of the dwarves that he knew, was going to willingly try _mushrooms_ to prove to Bilbo that he valued hobbits . . . the thought brought tears to his eyes at how much he was affecting his friends and he tried to flee back to his room only to be stopped by Thorin’s hand applying gentle pressure to his arm.

“You promised to sit with me, remember?” Thorin asked gently. “So let’s sit.” Bilbo didn’t fight as he was led to the bench and seated upon it. He didn’t have the energy and even if he had, Thorin would win if he tried to fight him if the dwarf truly wanted to. So Bilbo sat, staring blankly at the table until there was a plate placed in his line of sight. He vaguely registered that there were mushrooms, roasted tomatoes, bacon and eggs filling it but felt no pleasure at the sight.

“Are you going to taste them?” Thorin asked. “They did cook them just for you, âzyungâl. It would be a shame for them to go uneaten.”

“I’m not hungry,” Bilbo reminded him.

“Just taste them,” Thorin prompted. “At least let them know if they did well. That is all that I ask.” Bilbo sighed and picked up his fork before spearing a mushroom and looking at it expressionlessly before popping it into his mouth and chewing it. It nearly dissolved on his tongue and a small portion of his mind whispered that it was delicious.

“What do you think, Uncle?” Frodo asked, looking hopefully at Bilbo. “Did we do alright? I know that you always cook them, but I think that I followed your recipe.” Bilbo offered him a wan smile.

“You did well,” Bilbo offered. “They are quite delicious.” To prove his point and in an attempt to erase the sadness from Frodo’s eyes, Bilbo ate another. He ate slowly, methodically, with no real drive or need to do so but before he knew it, his plate was empty. He tried to ignore the happy smiles that the others sent his empty plate but he couldn’t help but feel pleased that he had made them happy by doing something so small as eating. He only wished that he could find joy in it.

**ooOO88Oooo**

Bilbo’s mood lasted through the morning. He would speak when spoken to, and move when he was directed to do so, but none of his actions were truly voluntary and any movement was accompanied by a world-weary sigh. Everyone was worried about him, but none more so than Gandalf. The wizard watched with a heavy heart as Bilbo went through the motions of life with no real motivation to do so. He couldn’t help but feel that it was his fault. He _knew_ that this was due to the Ring, and knew that he should have separated it from Bilbo _years_ ago. Perhaps ever right after the quest. But he had let it remain.

Sometimes it was difficult for him to keep track of the passage of time. Even if things around him changed, the change in most cases was so slow that it was unnoticeable until it was too far gone. Bilbo’s lack of aging had fooled him and it was only once he had realized that it was the hobbit’s 111th birthday and Frodo’s maturity that reminded him that it had been sixty years. Rather than speak to Frodo that day, he sat in the corner with his pipe and watched Bilbo closely. What he saw disturbed him deeply. His expression flickered between sorrow and anger almost as if he was undergoing a small mental war with himself. He had originally intended to leave it until after Bilbo’s birthday, but he hadn’t realized just how deeply rooted this problem was. He rapidly decided that he and Thorin would have to attempt it that night. He would just have to figure out how to get them alone with Bilbo. None of the others needed to see or hear what might happen.

**ooOO88OOoo**

It was lunch time before Bilbo truly showed life. They had finished the meal, Bilbo once again eating mechanically, and Thorin was preparing to leave for work. He eyed the hobbit warily before he sighed. Bilbo couldn’t leave the house like this.

“Will you look after him while I’m at work?” Thorin asked Gandalf from across the table, knowing that the wizard was perhaps the most qualified for the task as he seemed to have at least some knowledge of what was going on.

“Thorin,” Gandalf replied with a sad smile, “you need not ask. I have been looking after Bilbo for you for sixty years. I think I can manage him for an afternoon.”

“And just who says that I need looking after?” Bilbo snapped, shooting to his feet and glaring angrily at the two of them. “I have been looking after myself for longer than I care to remember! I DO NOT need the two of you to talk about me as if I am a child! I can look after myself!”

“Bilbo,” Thorin murmured, reaching for the hobbit and attempting to draw him into his arms as the madness stirred in his eyes once more. Rather than allow himself to be comforted, Bilbo slapped his hands away.

“NO!” the hobbit snarled. “You do not get to touch me, Thorin Oakenshield. The only reasons that I have ever needed to be looked after were your fault and neither time did you care enough about me to look after me yourself.”

“Now Bilbo,” Balin cut in, “that’s not true and you know it. Thorin loves you. He has always taken good care of you.”

“Really?!” Bilbo scoffed. “Was he taking good care of me when he ignored me at the beginning of the quest that he drug me from my nice warm home to go on? When he allowed me to come into the wild without a weapon and failed to even consider teaching me how to use it once I _did_ acquire one? When he didn’t even notice that I had been lost in Goblin Town? What about when he sent me in alone to face down a dragon?”

“That last bit _was_ what you were contracted for,” Bofur added trying to sway Bilbo with logic. Even if it was a distorted version of events, Thorin’s action did sound particularly negligent when strung together in that way.

“A contract he never needed to present me with if he wasn’t so focused on reclaiming that damned mountain,” Bilbo countered. “He loves that mountain more than he ever loved anything else in his life.” Thorin’s eyes went wide as he realized just what Bilbo was about to say. He prayed that he was wrong but he knew what was about to come and from the faces of the others, they did as well.

“Please,” Thorin whispered. “Stop.” Rather than stop, Bilbo laughed cruelly before he turned back to Thorin, madness and hatred in his eyes. The hatred was new and Thorin had to wonder why it was suddenly there. He wondered if Gandalf was correct in the fact that the Ring had a consciousness of its own and had realized that he posed a threat to its continued possession of Bilbo, but those thoughts were soon driven from his mind and replaced with a nearly blind rage as the thing-that-looked-like-Bilbo spoke once more.

“What?” he asked sarcastically. “Are you afraid of the truth, O Great King Under the Mountain? Do you not wish to be reminded that you traded my love and the lives of your nephews for riches and a mountain that you didn’t even get to keep? Does it haunt you to know that their blood is on your hands as surely as if you had gutted them yourself? That it would have been more humane of you to snap their tiny little necks straight from the womb so that you would have spared your sister the agony of raising sons only to have them stripped from her arms and _murdered_ by the very brother that should have—“

Bilbo’s words were cut off as Thorin slammed him into the wall, one hand on his shoulder and the other around his throat. There was shock on his face for a moment before it twisted into a grin of satisfaction. Even though his rage at the words, Thorin felt trepidation coil in his stomach. He had the distinct feeling that he had played right into the hands of the madness and had given it ammunition in the war for Bilbo’s mind.

“So that’s what it took, hm?” Bilbo purred his eyes half-lidded in what almost looked like lust and his hand coming up to caress the back of Thorin’s hand that was around his throat. “All I had to do was bring up Fíli and Kíli’s blood on your hands to bring back the murder that I still see in my nightmares.”

“I have no intention of murdering you, Bilbo,” Thorin replied. “But I will not allow you to speak such bitter lies to me. Not about them.”

“Lies?” Bilbo scoffed. “That’s not what you believed them to be the day before yesterday. I believe those were nearly the same words that you spoke to me. Or did you lie about your remorse over their deaths and the lack of love you showed them in life? You know, perhaps it _is_ a good thing they died. The sight of their proud, _kingly_ Uncle working in a forge for a _hobbit_ because he’s too much of a _coward_ to return to his kingdom and claim what is his for fear of his own lack of self-control would have shamed them beyond endurance. They would have died from it. Perhaps it’s good that they never lived to see you sink so low, Thorin. Perhaps it was kinder that you killed them so early in their lives.” At the last words, Thorin flinched as if Bilbo had struck him before his eyes filled with tears and rage and he abruptly released the hobbit before turning and storming out the front door.

Silence filled the kitchen for a couple of moments at what Bilbo had _dared_ to say to Thorin, while the hobbit glared after him triumphantly. Then Bilbo blinked a couple of times and the madness in his eyes and the hardness of his expression faded. With a quite moan, his features took on a look of confusion. He looked at the shocked, horrified expressions of his friends and heir and felt shame flood his veins that they had been there to witness his latest foray into madness.

“Wha-what just happened?” Bilbo asked quietly in a small, lost voice. “Where is—OH GODS!” He sobbed as the memory of what had just said to Thorin returned. He sank to the floor, bowed under the severity of what he had just done. He would be lucky if Thorin ever decided to return after what he had just said. That had been _beyond_ below the belt. He was shocked at the cruelty that he had been capable of. _He’s gone forever,_ he thought miserably. _And I do not blame him. Not after that. I cannot ask him to endure that._

 ** _It is fine, my love,_** another voice whispered within him, one that he had never heard before and that felt cold and cruel but familiar and comfortable at the same time. **_We do not need the dwarf. He has hurt us before. We have all that we need right here, do we not?_**

Bilbo wanted to tell the voice that it was wrong, that he _did_ need Thorin, but suddenly the image of Thorin’s angry eyes as he slammed Bilbo into the wall only moments before rose to his mind before being replaced by the memory of Thorin as he had looked as he attempted to end Bilbo’s life. His eyes were nearly the same and for the first time, doubt began to creep into Bilbo’s mind about whether Thorin truly could be trusted not to relapse. 


	22. Tears, Memories and Outlets

As Thorin slammed the door of Bilbo’s home behind him he wanted nothing more than to sink to the floor against it and cry. Oh, how he wanted to. But he did not allow himself to do it. Not there. Not where all it would take for Bilbo to continue his tirade— _No_ , he mentally corrected himself, **_NOT_** _Bilbo, the thing-that-looks-like-Bilbo. **Bilbo** would **never** have said that to me. **He** told me himself that he knows how much I loved Fíli and Kíli. He wants me to make peace with their mother. He would **never** have told me that I . . . that I **murdered** them._

At that last thought tears came unbidden to his eyes and Thorin wiped them away angrily but they would not be stopped. He had restrained them for too long and now that his composure had weakened they intended to fall until they were done. Realizing this, he wiped them away once more and took off at a run for the clearing that he had taken Bilbo to on the day that Bilbo and Dwalin had come to blows. He barely made it before the wracking sobs claimed him.

There, alone in the forest, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thror wept.

He wept for his nephews, his painfully young nephews, taken before their time in a violent battle that they should never have been involved in had he have been a better uncle and known that there are more important things in this life than gold and jewels and vengeance. He wept for the lives that they would never have a chance to lead: the love they would never find, the children they would never have, all the wonders and pains of life that he had robbed them of in his quest to reclaim a kingdom that they had no need to retake.

He wept for his sister, his poor baby sister, who had been forced to outlive her sons and see them placed beneath the stone. He wept that she would never again be greeted at the door by the strong arms of her golden-haired eldest and the warm smile of his counterpart, her dark-haired youngest. He wept that she had been denied her right to see them wed. To see the joy and pride in their faces as they looked at their mates and, perhaps, presented her with her grandchildren. He had denied her that pleasure. Because of him, she would never see her boys again. Even though she would never been able to see them again, Thorin _was_ grateful that she had been spared the sight of their broken bodies. He hadn’t. He had seen them fall and took the memory of it as his just punishment for leading them to their deaths.

Surprisingly, he even wept for Bilbo. Even though it had been Bilbo’s _body_ that had been used against him, it had not been Bilbo’s _soul_ that had made the attack. It had been another consciousness possessing his dear, sweet mate. Bilbo was as much a victim of the madness as Thorin was. Thorin had witnessed the remorse that Bilbo felt—remorse that bordered on depression at times—at the actions that the madness—the Ring—committed in his body. He could not help but weep for Bilbo, caught in the middle of a struggle that he did not even fully understand just because he had picked up a bit of gold in a cave.

Thorin felt regret swallow him as he wondered if all the times that Bilbo had used the Ring during their quest had accelerated his descent into madness. Had the reclaiming of Erebor happened not only at the cost of Fíli and Kíli’s lives but also at the cost of Bilbo’s sanity? Even if _Bilbo_ hadn’t meant it—and may never even have thought it since there _was_ another consciousness inside his body—he had been right when he had said that everything bad that had ever happened to him could be attributed to Thorin. Just like with Fíli and Kíli, had he not have wanted to retake the mountain, Bilbo would never have left the Shire. He would have remained safe in Bag End and would never have ever even found the damn Ring in the first place.

 _Yes,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Bilbo’s whispered in his mind _, that’s true. But if he’d remained here he never would have found **you** either. _ Thorin scoffed at the idea that he was worth what Bilbo was now going through and with a soft smile, a memory floated to the surface. A memory of when Bilbo had answered that very question.

**ooOO88OOoo**

_They had been in Lake Town, alone in their bed in the room that they had been given. Bilbo had been shaking in the throes of a fever from the cold that he had gotten while rescuing them from the dungeons of the Elf King and Thorin held Bilbo close as the hobbit simultaneously shivered and burned—his fever alarmingly high despite the potion that Óin had given him and his breathing far too shallow and too rapid._

_“Please,” Thorin whispered into Bilbo’s hair. “Please don’t die. Not like this, not when we’re so close to our goal. Please don’t leave me.”_

_“That . . . that would be **quite** uncourteous of me . . . would-wouldn’t it?” Bilbo panted, his voice nearly lost in his labored breathing. “To . . . to come all this way with you only to . . . only to die at the . . . at the very foot of the mountain and . . . and force you to return and bring **another** worthless hobbit across Middle Earth.” He gave a weak laugh there at the end that turned into a brutal coughing fit that left his throat aching and had a moan rising from his lips. _

_“You are not worthless, Bilbo,” Thorin promised trying to soothe the hobbit into going back to sleep. He hadn’t meant to wake him and listening to Bilbo try to talk was painful. At end of each lungful of air Bilbo had to pause and take a couple of shallow breaths before he could continue. It would be better for them both if he would just allow sleep to take him._

_“And it is not just the inconvenience your death would cause this quest that makes me implore you not to die,” Thorin promised, worried that Bilbo might actually believe that he thought that despite everything that had already passed between them. “I . . . I would miss you, Bilbo Baggins. This is no secret to you but I feel that it needs said: I . . . I love you. Finding you was like finding a part of myself that I did not know was missing. I did not know that I was incomplete until you had already completed me. For you to die now, so soon after . . . I am not sure that I could survive that, Bilbo. I want you to remain by my side forever, not be stripped away from me by illness.” He felt it when Bilbo tried to embrace him more tightly, but his limbs were too weak from the fever burning through his body and his grip was little more than the natural weight of his hands._

_“It will take more than a . . . than a fever to take me from you, Thorin,” Bilbo promised quietly, his voice fading even further as he began to drift out of lucidity once more, appeased by Thorin’s declaration. “I am sturdier than I look . . . and nearly as stubborn as you dwarves. I’ll survive this, you’ll see.”_

_“I sincerely hope that you are correct,” Thorin said pressing a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead and feeling worry rise in him more strongly than ever as the contact nearly burned him. He was beginning to lose hope that Bilbo would survive. He hadn’t even begun to sweat yet. His fever was still climbing and already Thorin had felt forges that were less warm than the hobbit in his arms. Even if Bilbo **did** survive it was possible that his mind would be damaged by the harms the fever wrought on his body._

_“I usually am,” Bilbo replied cheekily, a small smile on his face as he rested against Thorin with his eyes closed._

_“I will never agree to that, my dear hobbit. Your ego needs no inflation,” Thorin replied with the ghost of a laugh. Bilbo gave another small laugh that once more led to a fit of wracking coughs that Thorin wondered if would ever stop and left Bilbo gasping for air once they did pass. It had taken Bilbo sitting up to stop them, but they did pass._

_“I am sorry for all of this,” Thorin sighed as he helped his hobbit lay down once more._

_“Whatever for?” Bilbo asked. “ **You** didn’t get me sick. I’m the one that was . . . foolish enough to ride . . . down a cold river on barrels. And I’m the fool that keeps . . . keeps laughing at what you say despite . . . despite knowing what it will do to me.”_

_“No,” Thorin clarified. “For ever bringing you on this expedition in the first place. You should have been able to remain in your nice, warm home. Not been forced to follow us across Middle Earth and been threatened by all manner of creatures therein. It is almost ironic that of all the things that could have killed you a fever is coming the closest. I hate that I had any kind of a hand in it.”_

_“Don’t,” Bilbo whispered cuddling closer to Thorin. “I don’t regret that I followed you. Don’t regret inviting me.”_

_“How can you not!?” Thorin demanded incredulously. “How many times have you nearly died?”_

_“I could ask you the same,” Bilbo replied, cracking open an eye and attempting to look at the blurry dwarf above him. “But even if . . . even if I die here or . . . or in the mountain . . . it was worth it.”_

_“Was your thirst for adventure truly so great that your death will not upset you,” Thorin asked in surprise. “You told me that you are only halfway through your lifespan. Would you really be content to die at this very moment? Do you have no regrets about coming with us?”_

_“I would not be content, no,” Bilbo argued. “But I would have no regrets. I do not regret coming . . . coming with you, Thorin. If I hadn’t . . . well, what good . . . what good is a long life without love? If I were to die right now . . .  I would die content in the knowledge that . . . that I had been well loved.  The time I have spent with you . . . it is worth an early death. I love you. Even though you are a stubborn and . . . and **arrogant** dwarf at times. I can never regret coming since it . . . since it enabled me to find **you**.”_

_Thorin was shocked for a moment. Bilbo had just as good as said that his love was worth dying for. He was humbled by the admission. Bilbo loved him enough to be willing to die for him. Few people were fortunate enough to find one that cared for them so deeply, even among his own people. Once more he prayed to the Maker that Bilbo would survive this. He could not bear to be responsible for the death of one that could love so purely. Bilbo **had** to survive. _

_It was only a few hours later that Bilbo began to sweat as his fever broke. Thorin sat up with him all night, waking him periodically to have him drink a glass of water. Just before dawn, the sweating stopped. Bilbo’s skin had returned to its normal temperature, slightly cooler than Thorin’s own, and he slept peacefully. Thorin pressed his lips against Bilbo’s cool forehead and thanked Mahal that Bilbo had survived and made a vow that he would do everything in his power to be worthy of Bilbo’s devotion for the rest of their days. He knew what it was that he had found and had no intention of losing it._

**ooOO88OOoo**

He sighed as it occurred to him that he had broken that vow. Not even a month later he had proved himself decidedly unworthy of Bilbo’s devotion by turning on him over a _stone_ and attempting to thrown him to his death. But even that had not been enough to cause Bilbo to hate him. Rather than curse his name and memory for all eternity, Bilbo had mourned him. For sixty years. For _sixty_ _years_ Bilbo had mourned him and taken no other lover. Bilbo was _still_ devoted to him after all that time. Despite all the pain that Thorin had put Bilbo through, the hobbit _still_ loved him.

Gandalf had told him that was why the Ring was so cruel towards him. The Ring had held Bilbo’s heart for sixty years because Bilbo had no need for it any more. With Thorin dead, no one else had a claim to it and the Ring had met no resistance in claiming it. Bilbo was still capable of being _fond_ of others, but the soul-consuming love that he had for Thorin . . . he could give that to no others since he had hidden his heart away, safely ensconced it in the fortress of the Ring.  When Thorin had returned, Bilbo had reclaimed his heart and freely returned it to Thorin. _That_ had been what had triggered the madness. Thorin’s return had driven his mate to madness. Thorin had told Bilbo numerous times that the madness was not his fault and it had been the truth.

In fact, Bilbo truly had nothing to do with the madness. It was not a battle that he was truly involved in, he was the prize and the stakes. The combatants were actually Thorin and the Ring, poor Bilbo was merely caught in the middle of yet another war that he was dragged into by Thorin. All of his confusion and pain . . . it was Thorin’s fault as surely as if he were the one that was attacking Bilbo once more. He knew that it would be easier for Bilbo—the bouts of madness fewer—if he would stay away until the time Gandalf decided to take the Ring from him but he could not bring himself to leave Bilbo to suffer through this alone. He _would not_ lose Bilbo to the Ring.  

With a sigh, Thorin stood and wiped the tears from his cheeks and began the long walk to the forge. He wished that he knew the countryside well enough to avoid the market but that was not the case. Steeling his nerves for the inevitable crowds that would press in on him with questions, he entered town. He had been correct. Despite the fact that he knew that his eyes were still red from his tears—or perhaps _because_ of it—the hobbits in the market still came near him, though their questions that day were gentler than they had been in previous days, and their smiles warmer as they grew accustomed to his presence in their market.

He had feared that they would ask about Bilbo’s whereabouts. He wasn’t sure that he could answer that question politely, but he needn’t have worried because no one did. They seemed to realize that it was something that Thorin did not wish to discuss and after a few polite questions about his own health they allowed him to continue on his way.

“Can’t hold you up too much, Mr. Thorin,” a she-hobbit with a wee babe in her arms said with a smile. “After all, I would hate to come between royalty and a goal, even if that goal is just to fix the pot I took to Tom this morning. Give my regards to Mr. Bilbo when you see him.” He promised her that he would even if he had no idea how to do so as he had no idea who she was, and made his way towards the forge.

Once there he walked through the door without bothering to call out. Tom had his back to the door, working carefully on something on the anvil. Thorin watched him, shocked at the about of force the hobbit was capable of generating with each blow and waiting for him to pause in his work before speaking so as not to risk startling him into damaging his current project in his shock. When Tom set down the hammer and picked up his tongs to place the pan into the fire to reheat, Thorin spoke.

“I am sorry that I am late today, Master Tom,” Thorin said quietly. “There was . . . there was something that came up urgently and delayed me. It will not happen again.”

“I wondered if you were coming today or if something had happened in the market,” Tom said with a laugh. “I wasn’t sure that they would let you through after what you and Mr. Bilbo let slip yesterday. Meaning no offence, Mr. Bil . . .” Tom trailed off as he turned to face the door and saw that there was no Bilbo in sight. Only Thorin. As he took in the dwarf’s red-rimmed eyes and sad expression he knew immediately what the “something urgent” had been. They had had a spat.

“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty,” Tom said with a sad sigh, “but you look terrible. Are you sure that you feel up to working today. Wouldn’t you rather go home and sort out whatever it is that happened so urgently?” Thorin gave a small mirthless laugh that the hobbit smith had figured out what had passed between him and his mate that morning—or near enough.

“No, Master Tom,” Thorin sighed. “I would rather work for a bit and clear my head before I return home. It may save us both a few harsh words and undue heartache. And, please, I have no throne or crown. There is no need to address me so formally. I would appreciate it if you would use my name. ‘Thorin’ will suffice or ‘Mister Thorin’ if you must, but just know that even when I _did_ have a crown my own people tended to just refer to me by my name.”

“I can do that,” Tom replied with a warm smile. “If that is what you wish, ‘Thorin’ you shall be. If you will drop the ‘Master,’ that is. ‘Tom’ will do just fine. I’m only a simple hobbit blacksmith after all. Titles like that are for finer folks that me.” Thorin’s smile was warmer this time. If this was how hobbits behaved he knew that he could truly be happy here. They truly were a kind folk and he finally understood why Gandalf was so fond of them.

“I can do that as well,” Thorin agreed. “But allow me to tell you this, Tom. I have met many fine folks that are less deserving of their titles, and the respect that comes from them, than you. I have met _kings_ that are less noble than “a simple hobbit blacksmith.””

“Thank you,” Tom said blushing a fiery crimson at the compliment. “And, if I may be so bold as to say so, you are the most polite dwarf that I have ever met.”

“Am I the only dwarf you have ever met?” Thorin asked with a laugh.

Tom shrugged in response. “Perhaps you are,” Tom replied cryptically. “But that would make you the politest, wouldn’t it?”  

“It would,” Thorin agreed. For nothing more than a ‘simple hobbit blacksmith’ Tom had a sharp mind. Thorin was beginning to wonder if that was also not a trait that was singular to Bilbo but rather a trait inherent to his race. At the thought of Bilbo a pang of remorse washed through him followed by a burst of fury at what his mate was going through.

“Would you like to finish that pan or would you prefer I take over?” Thorin asked suddenly feeling the urge to hit something and thinking that it would be best to channel his rage into something productive. Seeming to sense the dwarf’s mood once more, Tom gestured at the forge.

“I will let you take over, Thorin,” Tom said. “I’ll be back at dusk to help you close up.” The dwarf nodded and turned to the forge, stripping off his outer garments as he walked and glaring at the pot in the bed of coals with fury burning in his blue eyes and a single-minded determination on his face that made Tom instantly glad that he was _not_ Bilbo Baggins. He had only known Thorin for a few short days but even in that time he had come to realize that he was not a dwarf to be trifled with. He wasn’t sure what had passed between Bilbo and the dwarf but he _was_ sure of one thing; Bilbo had better hope that Thorin vented some of his anger on the anvil or Tom was unsure of Bilbo’s odds of surviving the night.

“I’ll just leave you to it, shall I?” Tom said before beating a hasty retreat from the livid dwarf and hoping that his forge would be in one piece when he returned that night.

Thorin sighed as Tom fled. He had heard the fear in the hobbit’s voice and felt remorse for having been the cause of it. But then thoughts of Bilbo floated through his mind once more and he turned to the pot that was now on the anvil and began the process of repairing the break in the side of it. If his hammer fell with a bit too much ferocity . . . well, it would not show in the finished work and none ever needed to know. As he worked, he allowed all that had happened that day to flow through his mind and came to a decision: no matter what Gandalf had originally intended, they _would_ separate Bilbo from the Ring that night, even if he had to beat the wizard bloody to convince him of the necessity of the action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are. I thought that you all deserved a bit of fluff--even if it was flashback fluff--after the last few chapters. I hope that you enjoyed it!


	23. Shock, Memories and Manipulation

After Thorin left and Bilbo began crying everyone remained where they were in stunned silence. None of them could process what they had just seen. True, they had seen Bilbo in rages before--both madness induced and irritation induced--and he did tend to be more verbal in his attacks. Bilbo and Thorin had fought in front of the company more than once and every one of them had at one time or another been on the receiving end of one of Bilbo tirades but this . . . it had been different and shocking.

The dwarves, while they still loved Bilbo like a brother, were disgusted by what he had had the gall to say to Thorin. Not just because Thorin was a King--though that _did_ factor into it since, just like with Bilbo, it would always be his title to them even if he never reclaimed it--but because Bilbo meant so much to Thorin. They knew just how deeply Bilbo's words about Fíli and Kíli would have cut their king and friend . . . and pulling Dís' anguish at losing her sons into it with his comment about snapping their little necks straight from the womb . . . after that, it was only their own knowledge of and love for Bilbo, along with Gandalf and Thorin's assurances that Bilbo was not himself that kept them from seeking retribution for the cruelty. That, and the fact that they knew that Thorin would likely seek retribution of his own if they harmed his mate . . . even after _that_. Thorin did not wish to see Bilbo punished or he would have done it himself rather than extracting himself from the situation.

But while they did not attack him, they also could not bring themselves to offer him comfort. Not after that. Especially since, if he could turn on Thorin like that, they wondered what chance any of them had of calming him if he did fly into a rage again. It was better for them all to keep their distance from the old hobbit.

Even Gandalf was feeling shocked by what he had just witnessed. He had seen many thing in his long life but even he had been taken by surprise by the sheer _cruelty_ of what had been said. While it was true that Thorin had told him what had been said in the bedroom in one of the previous spells of possession, he had not anticipated the cold, calculation cruelty. He had expected  ranting, wild gestures, yelling but not this. What had left Bilbo's mouth had felt more to Gandalf like manipulation than a simple desire to hurt Thorin. That's not to say that it hadn't.

The Ring knew Bilbo's mind well and had used its knowledge to say the very words that would hurt Thorin the most deeply by targeting the one thing that had ever truly mattered to the dwarf--even if Thorin, himself, had forgotten it for a time: his family. While Gandalf also knew why Thorin had reacted the way he had and was actually thankful for the restraint that the dwarf had shown--restraint Gandalf hadn't know him capable of--he couldn't help but feel that the Ring had gotten exactly what it had wanted from Thorin. It had _wanted_ to provoke him to violence and he had played right into its hands.

If Gandalf hadn't already been sure that Bilbo and the Ring needed to be separated, this alone would have steeled his resolve. Now that the Ring was attempting to alienate Bilbo from the people who loved him and get the hobbit to itself there was no time to lose if they wanted to save Bilbo. It was also this knowledge that kept Gandalf in his seat. He wanted nothing more than to go to the distraught hobbit and offer him comfort, but if the Ring was reacting so poorly to the presence of Bilbo's mate he feared how it would respond to the proximity of an Istari. So, though it broke his heart to do so, he sat back and watched as Bilbo sobbed.

Frodo, however, was up and around the table and kneeling beside his uncle the moment the shock wore off. Never had he seen Bilbo so much as cry, let alone weep as he was now. The poor old hobbit was curled in on himself sobbing uncontrollably and failed to acknowledge that Frodo had even spoken when he called to him. With hands that shook slightly both from fear and nervousness, Frodo reached forward and began trying his best to sooth his uncle but unsure what to do. He _knew_ that Bilbo had to be injured. Thorin had been quite rough with him, after all. True, harsh words had been said but it wasn'tas if Bilbo had _meant_ them. It seemed unfair to Frodo that Bilbo had to bear both the physical pain from Thorin's ire and the emotional pain of having hurt his lover in the first place. Even so, he understood _why_ Thorin had reacted the way he had.

As his hands skimmed along Bilbo's upper back the old hobbit winced and curled even farther in on himself. His shoulders were tender from where Thorin had slammed him into the wall and Bilbo knew that there would be bruises there from the dwarf's actions. But he also knew that it was the least he deserved after what he had dared to say to his mate. He halfway wished that Thorin _had_ killed him. At least then they would both be free of his deteriorating sanity. When he felt Frodo gently touch the tender area again he swatted at the lad's hands. Not because it hurt, though it did, but because he wanted to be left alone in his misery.

"Uncle," Frodo said softly. "Let me help."

"Leave me be. I'm fine," Bilbo muttered refusing to look at Frodo. Even if the shade of blue was different, Bilbo could not bear to look into blue eyes at the moment. Not with the memory of the pain Thorin's had contained because of his words so fresh in his mind. He had even thought that he saw tears just before Thorin had stormed off. No. Even Frodo's lighter shade of blue was too much.

"People who are 'fine' don't flinch when touched, Uncle," Frodo said firmly. He hated to speak to Bilbo in such a way but it seemed to be the only thing that Bilbo responded to at the moment. His uncle said nothing in response and taking his silence as acceptance, Frodo reached out once more only to have his hands swatted away a second time. Frodo sighed and steeled himself for what he had to do next. He was going to attempt to cow his uncle. He only hoped that he was up to the task.

"Uncle, you're being ridiculous!" Frodo exclaimed."Just let me help you, you foolish old hobbit!" Frodo's plan to goad his uncle into speaking backfired and Bilbo seemed to shrink in on himself even farther. The younger hobbit felt remorse wash through him at his mistake.

"Uncle?" he whispered in a soft, repentant voice. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You're not foolish. I'm sorry."

"No," Bilbo whispered. "You were right. I am foolish. And you can't help me with this, lad. No one can." Even before the final word was out of his mouth, Bilbo was scrambling to his feet and fleeing down the hall to his room. Frodo winced as he heard the door slam.

Silence once more fell over the room at Bilbo's departure. None of them knew what to say. Instead, they sat there, all unable to make eye contact with anyone else who had just witnessed the scene. They were ashamed of themselves. Every one of them felt grateful that Bilbo had decided to ensconce himself in his room and that they were not going to have to witness another meltdown as their dear friend slipped further away from himself. They were ashamed of their gratitude, especially in light of just how quickly things had gone downhill. This might be some of their last time to spend with _Bilbo_ and they were glad to not have it. They were filled with misery and self-loathing at the truth of the matter.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Their self-loathing and misery did not even begin to compare to the levels of both that Bilbo as experiencing as he curled up on his bed, burying his nose in the pillow Thorin had been using, knowing that this might be his only connection to the dwarf after what he had said. He still wasn't sure what had posessed him to say such things to Thorin. He _knew_ that Thorin had loved his nephews. _Why_ had he said that Thorin had valued the mountain over the boys when time and time again the dwarf had told him that he was mostly doing it for the boys and his sister. The gold _was_ a draw but it had not been the major drive . . . only a perk. Until Thorin had seen it that was. Then . . . well could Bilbo truly fault him--someone who had gone without for so long--getting a bit obsessive?

He had known, even before he had been acquainted with them, that dwarves loved the beauties of the earth. It made sense to him that they, having been created from the earth, would love things that shared a kinship with them. He also knew that Thorin had been born to that extravagance and had it taken from him brutally along with his home and his mother. Thorin had never told him personally. The dwarf never spoke of the fall of Erebor, not even with him, but Balin, Fíli and Kíli had filled him in one day when he asked why Thorin was so determined to complete the quest after Thorin had snapped at him in Mirkwood for a simple question despite their relationship only for Thorin to look at him with a condescending sneer and walk away. Bilbo had been hurt and angry and had turned to his friends for comfort.

**ooOO88OOoo**

_"I understand that he is a King," Bilbo had ranted, fighting back tears at Thorin's complete disrgard of his questions, "but what gives him the right to treat people that way? To treat **me** that way. I . . . I only asked a simple question."_

_"Laddie," Balin had said with a sigh. "There are many things about Thorin that you need to know if the two of you have any chance at all of making this work. The odds are against you, Bilbo. You and Thorin . . . there are many differences between you. I know that you know about the age difference and the differences in temperaments but . . . Thorin . . . he's had too much loss and pain in his life, lad."_

_"So have you all!" Bilbo snapped glaring at his lover's back darkly. "None of the rest of you are quite so bitter and sour and-and . . .  distrustful! He seems to think that **everyone** is out to wrong him. He won't accept help when it is offered and he . . . it seems like he even distrusts me. Even with all that we have shared and all that we've been through together. I thought that he loves me. Why would he distrust me? I. . . I don't understand it, Balin."_

_"It's time that you, me and the lads had a conversation, Bilbo," Balin sighed motioning Fíli and Kíli over with a wave. "Thorin will never tell you any of this himself and there are parts of it that **I** don't even know. There are parts that only he, Dís and the boys know but it is time that you did as well." Once the boys arrived and Balin told them what he wanted of them, Fíli paled and shot a worried look at his uncle's back._

_"Balin's right," Fíli said in a hushed voice his eyes still darting about warily while Kíli's had fixed unmoving on Thorin, acting in a lookout capacity as he did when they pranked together and prepared to stop his brother at the first sign of their uncle coming their way. It wasn't that they were afraid **of** Thorin, but rather afraid **for** him. What they were about to tell Bilbo . . . they were some of Thorin's darkest memories and neither boy had the desire to pain their uncle, which hearing even a hint of what was coming would do. There had always been words that were off-limits around their uncle and they were about to use them all. _

_"You do need to know if you are ever going to understand Uncle. But not here. We're too close and he might overhear us. Come with us," Fíli said, moving them even farther away from the group before sitting down once more, Kíli sitting beside him with his eyes still on Thorin._

_"Now," Fíli asked simply. "What has Uncle told you about his past?"_

_"Not much," Bilbo replied. "I know that he was born in Erebor and that he remembers the dragon coming and that he settled your people in Ered Luin. That is about it."_

_"What do you know of our family?" Kíli asked quietly. "His generation especially. How many siblings does he have?"_

_"I know that your mother is his sister," Bilbo replied. "His younger sister. That's all that I know about so . . . . one?"_

_"He hasn't told you anything, has he?" Fíli asked, his blue eyes filled with sadness. At Bilbo's frustrated huff, the blonde dwarf gave a small, humorless laugh. "Don't worry. He didn't tell us anything either. What we know, we know from our mother."_

_"Balin is the best to tell you of the fall of Erebor," Fíli continued. "He was there and might have some memory of it. I do know that he and Uncle were not in the mountain when it fell and that they watched the distruction helplessly from afar.  Uncle had to **watch** as Smaug ravaged he mountain. He only discovered later that he had lost more than his home that day. His mother . . . she was killed in the attack." Fíli looked away for a moment before he glanced back up and continued. _

_"I know that you have learned a bit about us since we've been traveling together," Fíli said with a sigh. "You know that Kíli is not considered an adult yet and he is seventy-seven. Uncle . . .  he was only twenty-three when the mountain fell. Far too young to be without his mother, especially with two younger siblings and a father that had to contend with his homeless people and not his traumatized children."_

_"Two?" Bilbo asked in shock. "Thorin has another sibling?"_

_"Had," Kíli corrected. "Uncle **had** a brother."_

_"Oh dear!" Bilbo breathed, shocked that Thorin had never told him of a brother. "What happened to him?"_

_"He was killed," Balin said. "I was there. He was killed in the Battle of Azanulbizar." Seeing Bilbo's look of confusion, Balin sighed before he began explaining what he believed to be Thror and Thráin's greatest failing. "After the fall of Erebor, we were homeless. Thorin's father and grandfather decided that the best way to find us a home was to attempt to retake the ancient dwarf kingdom of Khazad-dûm. You probably know it as Moria if you know it at all."_

_"That's the same battle where Thorin earned his name, wasn't it?" Bilbo asked in shock. Thorin had lost his brother at the same battle that earned him fame. He wondered how Thorin felt about being best known for the day he had lost his younger brother._

_"Aye, laddie," Balin agreed with a sad nod. "The same. That day we lost both Thror and Frerin. Thorin . . . he was only fifty-three."_

_"But if Kíli is still a child at seventy-seven," Bilbo began only to be cut off by Balin._

_"Yes," Balin agreed. "Most of us were still children at the battle. I was only forty-one and Frerin . . . he was forty-eight. Younger even than you are now. That day, Thorin blamed himself for both his grandfather and his brother's death."_

_"He still does," Fíli added sadly. "When he thinks of it at all, he blames himself. Mother told me as much. She knows him better than anyone else and he . . . she's the only one that he lets in at all. Until you, that is. I know that he still seems closed off from you but trust me when I tell you that I have never seen him behave towards anyone else the way he does you. He does trust you, Bilbo. It's just that . . . trust is a hard thing for Uncle to give out. Too many people have either left or betrayed him in his life and . . ." Fíli trailed off with a sigh._

_"He's even a bit distant with us," Kíli added looking away from Thorin for the first time, a gentle smile on his face and love in his eyes. "More so since the quest started. We know that he's just afraid to lose us as well and that he **does** care for us. That's part of the reason for the quest. Mother told us. Uncle wants to retake the mountain so that Fíli and I never have to want for anything again. He wants us to have the security that has been denied to him for so long. He can tell the others whatever he wants: that it is for retaking what is ours, that it is for the gold . . . we know the truth. He is doing this for us. For me and Fíli."_

**ooOO88OOoo**

Bilbo fell abruptly from the memory with a pained cry as the severity of what he had done struck him once more. Not only had he accused Thorin of murdering his nephews, but he had accused him of doing it on a quest that had been for their benefit all the time. He knew the guilt of that decision had to be eating Thorin alive. The dwarf had told him as much himself. Bilbo knew that Thorin had to hate himself. IN the quest to insure their future he had taken it. And Bilbo had thrown it back at him.

 ** _What does it matter?_** The same little voice from earlier asked. **_You said nothing but the truth. What does it matter if the truth is painful or he does not want to hear it? He did lead them to their deaths. What do his intentions matter? He has never wanted to hear the truth from you. Do you not recall what happened inside the mountain when you tried to convince him to forgo battle--an action that would have saved Fíli and Kíli's lives? Do you not recall the madness in his eyes and the pain of his fingers digging into your flesh and leaving their black imprint there? The dwarf cares not for the truth, my love. Every time you have spoken a truth that he did not wish to hear he has reacted in anger, has he not? Why do you continue to mourn the pain you cause him when he has caused you such pain?_**

At first, the other voice's words seemed so untrue. Thorin had listened to his advice in the past, even if it was a truth that he did not believe. But as the voice continued, Bilbo realized that it was right. Thorin _was_ opinionated and proud and did not take suggestions or truths that were counter to his own philosophies well. Thorin _had_ been responsible for his nephew's deaths. If only he would have listened to Bilbo and traded with the elves and men there would have been no need for a battle and Fíli and Kíli would have survived. He ignored the part of his mind that whispered that such an action would have taken care of the men and elves but not the goblins and wargs in favor of moving on to the next point. Thorin _did_ always react with violence when he was displeased. He was dangerous to be around. What if the next time he _did_ decide to kill Bilbo for speaking the truth. For the first time since Thorin had stormed out of the house Bilbo questioned if he truly wanted the dwarf to return. Thorin could not be trusted.

Bilbo missed the thought that was almost a smirk as the Ring felt Bilbo's doubts begin to stir. Soon, soon it would have complete control of this hobbit. There were deep pains and fears here that it could exploit to bend the hobbit to its will and use the body of Bilbo Baggins to return itself to its Master. The dwarf _had_ posed a problem but no more. Bilbo's heart, mind and body now belonged to the Ring and it reveled in the control. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. . . that was . . . yeah :( Does it help if I say that I am sorry?
> 
> And as some of you may know, this time I have a QUESTION for you: For the next two weeks I am going to be writing like a madwoman to try to get as much done on these stories as I can before school starts up the first week of June. After it does updates will become much more sporadic (it's an accelerated program that compresses 2 years of study into 9 months. What would be a normal semester is now crammed into 8 weeks and well . . . that's a lot to do and very little time to do it) Here's where the question comes in. Do you want me to post as I get it done and get a mass amount of uploads in the next two weeks and then potentially silence for a while or would you rather that I hold them and give out a chapter (or two) a week? I think I prefer the spread out method but will do it whichever way is the most popular on each of my stories. I do want happy readers after all ;D. So vote for your choice in the comments!


	24. Plans, an End and a Request

By the time that Tom returned to the forge that night, Thorin was a good deal calmer than he had been when the hobbit had left. Additionally, the forge—and the anvil—was still in one piece. Tom had been a bit worried that they would not be. In fact, not only was everything in one piece but it seemed that anger made the dwarf even more productive than he had previously been, impossible as it seemed. Just as Thorin had earlier, Tom waited until Thorin dunked the pot he had been repairing into the barrel before he spoke.

"I see you've been productive today, Thorin," Tom said with a laugh, walking into the forge and picking up one of the pieces from the pile of finished goods and holding it up with a smile. "I was wondering how you would do today. Or if—" Tom cut himself off as he realized that what he had about to say may have been seen as rude. They had only known one another a few days and he was not sure that they were close enough for him to say what he had been intending to.

"You were worried that in my anger I would do more damage than good," Thorin said with a small laugh as he pulled the pot back out and began to buff the mend to check for flaws. Tom's blush caused his smile to falter. It used to be that easy to make Bilbo blush and more difficult to drive him to anger. He missed those times.

"I-I was," Tom agreed sheepishly unsure how to take this side of Thorin. Though the dwarf had always been good tempered with him, but he wasn't sure how to take this levity after the anger that had been radiating from Thorin only hours before. At his admittance, Thorin gave a small laugh through his nose.

"Tom, I have spent most of my life angry at something," Thorin admitted. "If anger affected my work I would have long ago starved."

"But you were a king!" Tom protested. "Surely you would not have starved."

"I was the king of an exiled people with no wealth and only a small settlement to call home," Thorin replied bitterly. "I worked just as any other. I would have starved like any other. With the choice of work or starve I learned to funnel my anger into something productive: smithing."

"Perhaps I should anger you more often," Tom said with a bemused shake of his head as he looked at everything that Thorin had accomplished. "You . . . normally you are . . . this is . . ." Thorin smiled at the flustered hobbit.

"I will see what I can do about coming to work in an irritated state more often, Tom," Thorin joked tightly. "It is good for business, after all."

"But not for you, or Mr. Bilbo," Tom argued. "And you are more than productive on a normal day. Speaking of a normal day, it's time for you to head home. I can close up and I think that you have vented enough that Mr. Bilbo _might_ survive the continuation of the argument."

"I think I'd rather stay and help you close up," Thorin replied with a sigh. He knew that he couldn't stay away forever, but the idea of going home and facing Bilbo after what Bilbo had said and Thorin had done . . . it was not one that appealed to him.

"I've take care of this," Tom replied with a knowing smile. "I let you vent the worst of your anger now go home and make peace. I have a wife. I know just how much work making peace can be, both emotionally and physically. Go home, Thorin." With a sigh, Thorin gathered up his things and replaced his layers and made his way to the door of the forge.

"Oh, and Thorin," Tom called waiting until the dwarf turned before he smiled and gestured at the pile of things that had been completed. "Stay home tomorrow. I don't know why you and Mr. Bilbo were separated for as long as you were or how long you two have been reunited and I am not trying to press my nose in where it is not wanted but . . . stay with him tomorrow. Take a day just for the two of you. I don't even intend to open the forge tomorrow. We'll both take a bit of a holiday. It's been too long since me and the wife took the kids on an picnic." Again, Thorin nodded, seeing no way that he could tell Tom that Bilbo might not want to spend the day with him tomorrow or that he might not want to spend it with Bilbo after what he had planned that night.

"You surprise me," Thorin said suddenly, eyeing the hobbit before him with a speculative gaze.

"How so?" Tom asked, wondering how they had gotten there. Surely Thorin had been given vacation before.

"I am surprised by how supportive you are of my relationship with Bilbo," Thorin clarified. "When we first began courting, Bilbo . . . he . . . he was . . . _reluctant_ to be with me even though he desired me because he had been raised to believe two males together was wrong. I was under the impression that it was a belief shared by all hobbits. He was very anxious about the consequences of returning home after beginning a relationship with me. Seemed to believe that he would be ostracized. Nothing of the sort has occurred."

"While it is true," Thorin added with a laugh, "that we did traumatize folk the first night after we left here—"

"I heard about that," Tom said with a laugh of his own. "Made a right bit of noise you two did!"

"Our noise aside, other than their shock there has been no real reaction," Thorin said. "If anything, the hobbits in the market have only been _more_ interested in us. And you . . . I am surprised. That's all."

"We're not near as uptight as we were when Mr. Bilbo was young," Tom replied. "True, it is still a taboo for two hobbits of the same sex to . . . you know . . . but . . . no offence meant of course, but Mr. Bilbo is so odd that nothing he can do would shock us too badly. And you . . . the same rules don't apply to strange dwarf-kings that spirit away hobbits in the night as apply to simple hobbits. And for Bilbo Baggins to be _with_ said dwarf-king . . . well, the two of you are more interesting than repulsive, if that makes any sense."

"It does," Thorin said with a nod. It hurt him to know that Bilbo was seen as so odd by his own people that their rules no longer applied to him but he was glad that it made their lives easier. "Thank you for the explanation, Tom. I will see you the day after tomorrow."

"Good night, Thorin," Tom replied. "And good luck."

"Good night, Tom," Thorin said before turning and walking into the darkness to return to Bag End and his troubled mate. He knew that he needed all the luck that he could get to do what he needed to that night. Not only did he have to convince a meddling wizard to meddle sooner than he intended—and later than he should have—but he also had to actually remove the Ring from Bilbo. He held no illusion that either task would be a simple one.

The walk was not a long one, much to Thorin's displeasure, and he soon arrived at the door to Bilbo's home. He heaved a deep sigh and had just prepared to open the door when a voice from the direction of the garden bench startled him.

"I knew that you would return to him," Gandalf said pausing to blow a smoke ring before he continued. "The others didn't believe that you would. They thought that you would just disappear into the night. They said they would not have blamed you for doing so."

"How much did you win this time?" Thorin asked with a wry smile, remembering just how much of his kin's gold Gandalf had made off with betting on Bilbo choosing to accompany them all those years ago—and many other bets on the hobbit many times beside. It got to the point where no one would take a bet against Gandalf if Bilbo was involved in any way.

"My dear dwarf," Gandalf replied with a snort, "Even your kin have _some_ scruples. There was no wager on this. Merely conversation." Thorin had to admit that he was surprised that they had a limit to what they would bet on. To his knowledge they had bet on every aspect of his relationship with Bilbo (and many other inappropriate things besides—including just how many of them Smaug would incinerate, though how the incinerated members intended to claim the reward was beyond him) he could not see why betting on how long it would take them to self-destruct would be different.

Thorin sighed as he tried to decide how he wanted to broach the topic of the Ring with the wizard without driving either of them into a rage. It turned out to be unnecessary as Gandalf brought it up himself.

"Thorin," Gandalf sighed, "I know that I originally said that we should wait until his birthday to separate him from the Ring and use Frodo's inheritance as an excuse but I fear now that if we wait that long it will be too late. If it is not already. You . . . the way you reacted today played right into the plans of the Ring. I can feel it. By losing your temper . . . we may have lost him."

"Don't you _dare_ blame this on me, wizard," Thorin growled. "Can you honestly tell me that _you_ would have reacted differently had he said the same to you?! No. You cannot. I reacted as anyone would have to such a claim. And I did _not_ lose my temper. It was still very much in my control—"

"Which is why you slammed him against the wall," Gandalf replied sarcastically sketching Thorin a mock bow with his lip curled in disdain. "I applaud your self-control, Master Dwarf."  Thorin said nothing but merely glared at the wizard. He may have to admit that Gandalf had a point but he did not have to admit it aloud.

"There is no fault in losing your temper, Thorin," Gandalf said with a sigh, his sneer disappearing and being replaced by a sad expression. "Not with what was said to you. Everyone knows that you cared for the boys. No one—"

"Leave them out of this, wizard," Thorin snapped. "And I do not need your blessing for having assaulted my mate. It was not acceptable behavior regardless of what he said to me. I swore to never again touch him in anger and . . ." Thorin seemed to deflate for a moment before his face hardened once more and he composed himself before regarding Gandalf with cold eyes.

"Now, what did you intend to tell me of your plans for Bilbo," Thorin demanded, his tone business-like and nearly cold but with a hint of dark promise creeping in underneath it as he continued. "I will tell you that I do not intend to leave that Ring with him even one more night. The bouts where it is not Bilbo in his body are becoming more frequent and longer lasting. I will not allow this to continue. And you can either aid me or not as you will but you will not stop me in this. I _will_ do this tonight, with or without you. And know that if you _do_ attempt to stop me, I will not hesitate to remove any obstacle in my path, even if it _is_ an old man. I do not strike outside of battle without provocation however there has been provocation in this case. This entire mess is your fault after all. _You_ were the one that has left that _thing_ with Bilbo for sixty years. If we lose him . . . know that I _will_ hold you personally responsible for his loss." Gandalf nearly smiled at the change in the dwarf that had sat at the kitchen of the home they were currently in front of and said that he would not be responsible for Bilbo, but this was not a matter for smiles.

"Understood," Gandalf replied instead, just as he had all those years ago. "I intended to tell you the same. Bilbo _must_ be separated from the Ring. To do this successfully, we will have to convince him to give it up willingly."

"Couldn't we just take it?" Thorin asked. He had to admit that had been his plan. Bilbo needed to be parted from it. He knew from what Gandalf had said that Bilbo _giving_ them the Ring was not going to happen easily if it would at all. He had already assaulted his mate once that day and this time would be for his own good, or so he told himself. Somehow taking something from Bilbo by force felt wrong to him, even if it was for Bilbo's own benefit.

"You could," Gandalf agreed, "if you wanted to destroy his mind. He _must_ give it up willingly if he is ever to be free of it."

"What if we cannot convince him?" Thorin asked his hope for this situation to end well fading with every passing moment. He only felt his trepidation increase when Gandalf sighed.

"Has Bilbo even spoken to you of Gollum?" Gandalf asked sadly. He watched as the sorrow in Thorin's eyes morphed into confusion at the mention of Gollum.

"The creature in the cave he won the Ring from? What does he have to do with this?" Thorin demanded. _He has everything to do with this,_ Gandalf thought sadly. _He is Bilbo's future if we fail._ But rather than say any of this and depress the dwarf further, Gandalf stuck to the facts of the matter rather than dire predictions of the future: a future that, with luck, would never come to pass.

"Thorin," Gandalf said slowly, loath to out Bilbo's deception to his lover, "Bilbo did not _win_ the Ring. He stole it. Or _found_ it I should say. Bilbo did not set out to steal it. The Ring abandoned Gollum, Bilbo found it and slipped it into his pocket. Even once Gollum said that he had lost it Bilbo did not return it to him. Bilbo willfully took the property of another and kept it as his own."

"How do you know this?" Thorin demanded wondering why Gandalf would have a different version of events than he had. Had the wizard gotten them from the creature rather than Bilbo? Bilbo was not a liar. "That is not the story that Bilbo told the company or me. He told me that it was part of the wager in the riddle game."

"He lied," Gandalf said flatly. "That is part of the lure of the Ring. It corrupts even the most honest and good individuals over time. And its corruption of Bilbo began the moment he touched it. The Ring may also have even exacerbated your own brief stint into madness."

"When did you know that he lied?" Thorin demanded. He choose to ignore the last part of Gandalf's speech. Nothing could absolve him of his actions. Not even an evil Ring. He had to admit that it hurt that Bilbo had lied to him and he sincerely hoped that Gandalf had not known of this for overlong. His hopes were dashed as Gandalf spoke and in place of the hurt and hope, rage swelled to life at the wizard's negligence.

"A few years after your quest," Gandalf replied, sighing at the pain he could see in the dwarf. "I grew interested in his Ring and asked to see it—magic rings of invisibility are _very_ rare, you know— and he grew defensive. It made me suspicious so I began pressing him for details of what had occurred in the caves. His story began to crumble and eventually I gleaned the truth. I began to believe even then that the Ring might be more sinister than a simple trinket that granted invisibility."

"And you left it with him," Thorin snarled. "You _knew_ that it was corrupting him and you left it with him?! And you profess to care for him! How many times have you lectured me in my treatment of him and you _dared_ to leave him in more danger than I ever led him into. I only risked his life—a risk he _consented_ to, Gandalf—but _you_. . . you risked _him_. The very essence of what makes Bilbo _Bilbo_ and you risked it! Why?" Gandalf seemed to deflate before Thorin's eyes, suddenly growing older and wearier.

"I do not know," Gandalf whispered. "I only hope that it is not too late." Thorin said nothing, but the angry growl he let out more than said it for him. In that simple sound Gandalf heard what he truly meant. What Thorin had meant to say was, 'It had better not be. For your sake.'

**ooOO88OOoo**

Bilbo moaned as he heard a knock on the door and curled more tightly under his blankets. He knew that they would just go away. This had been happening off and on all afternoon. Frodo would come to the door, knock, call through it and when he received no reply go away only to repeat the cycle later. This time, no call came. Instead the door was opened and booted footsteps sounded as whoever it was that was disturbing him entered the room. He did not bother to open his eyes to see who it was and tried to regulate his breathing so that it would appear he was asleep and they might leave him in peace.

"You can fool many people by feigning sleep, Bilbo Baggins. I am not one of them," a voice that he had dreaded to hear all afternoon said harshly from above him. "You and I have things to discuss. Sit up."

"Go away, Thorin," Bilbo muttered. "I don't want to talk to you." _I don't want to hurt you or for you to hurt me,_ Bilbo thought sadly. _It is best for us both if you just go._

 ** _Yes, my love,_** the Ring whispered soothingly. **_It is better for everyone if the dwarf leaves. He can hurt you no more if he is not near you._**

"I'm afraid that I cannot do that, Bilbo," Thorin replied sitting beside him on the bed and stroking Bilbo's back soothingly, his fingers unknowingly brushing against the bruises on the hobbit's shoulders and causing Bilbo to flinch away from him. Thorin settled his hands in his lap instead before he spoke once more. "We have things to discuss, my hobbit. There have been wrongs committed on both sides of this and we need to rectify them. I do not hold you accountable for what you said to me today."

"You don't?!" Bilbo snapped sitting up abruptly with an incredulous snort and turning to face Thorin with a furious expression on his face but no madness in his eyes. "Well that's a relief. I'll have to tell my bruised shoulders that they can just stop aching. The _great_ Thorin Oakenshield does not hold me accountable for my words." Thorin flinched from the anger and pain in Bilbo's gaze. "Did it ever occur to you that I may hold _you_ accountable for yours?"

"Bilbo . . . I," Thorin began in a quiet voice only to be cut off by an angry noise from the irate hobbit.

"Don't you _dare_ tell me that you are sorry or that you did not mean it," Bilbo hissed venomously. "I've heard that from you before, Thorin. Mere days ago you _swore_ to me— **SWORE** to me!—that you would _never_ assault me again. How quickly you forget your promises, just as you always have." The last bit was said in a whisper, Bilbo unable to look at Thorin as he denounced him.

"Never _once_ have you kept a promise to me, Thorin," Bilbo sighed sadly, tears beginning to choke his words. "When we began courting you _promised_ me that you would never hurt me. That you would be good to me both in and out of bed. You _promised_ me that I would not regret my decision. You repeated the same vows when we were wed . . . Thorin . . . you broke them all." Thorin stared at him in shock at what _Bilbo,_ not the-thing-that-looked-like-Bilbo but Bilbo himself, was saying to him. There was no anger there now, only sadness, regret, and acceptance. Bilbo . . . he . . .

"You hurt me, Thorin," Bilbo continued, seeing the pain he was causing his lover but unable to stop now that he had begun. "Many times in _many_ ways. You were always so _secretive!_ So closed off. It hurt me that you would not allow me in. I had to learn about you vicariously through your _nephews_ and _Balin_. _They_ told me what _you_ should have. Despite all your fine words about loving me . . . you kept me out. And then . . . Thorin, you tried to _kill_ me. You threw me away like _garbage_. You wouldn't even listen when I tried to explain to you why I had done it." Thorin remained silent, he had no defense against Bilbo's allegations. They were all true. He had deeply wronged his mate. He knew it. He did not need Bilbo to lay out his wrongs as he was.

"We were good in bed," Bilbo said simply. "None can deny that. You . . . you did things to me that no one else ever has or ever will. As I did to you. Sexually we are quite compatible but, Thorin . . . what do we have outside of that? What do we have in common. I cannot fight, or smith, or _anything_ that you do, truly. You value gold, jewels, mountains. I thrive on light, flowers, food. What will keep us together outside of sex?"

"There is more to our relationship than simply sex," Thorin asserted. "You and I have spent many hours together talking. We are comfortable around one another. You . . . I once told you that you completed me. It was true. You . . .  you balance me, Bilbo. As I do you. Alone . . . alone we are both unsteady. Without you . . . I am . . . I'm angry, bitter, cold. But with you . . . I am what you see before you. You temper me."

 ** _He is using you, my love,_** the Ring whispered. **_In his entire speech all he told you was what he gains from you. What does he offer you in return, my love? What negative trait of yours does he balance? What negative traits do you have for him to balance?_**

"And what do you offer me, Thorin?" Bilbo asked. "I may temper you but what do you do for me? What flaw in my character do _you_ balance out? What good does your love do for me? I have thought about it today and we do have good memories but . . . the vast majority of the ones that I could call to mind were painful or upsetting. I don't know what we're doing here, Thorin."

"I thought you were happy with me," Thorin said sadly. Whatever he had been expecting, this conversation was not it. He had not expected that _Bilbo_ wanted to sever ties with him. The Ring, yes, but not Bilbo himself. _The Ring has twisted his mind,_ a part of him thought desperately. _Gandalf said as much and you have seen it yourself. He is only remembering the bad times because that is what the Ring wants him to remember. Once it's gone Bilbo will remember the good and regret his words now._ He pressed that thought away viciously. He knew better than to hope for the best. Never had that been what he received from life. Bilbo's mind would not change. The hobbit was done with him. Even so, Thorin could not do as Bilbo had asked and leave Bilbo to the Ring. He still loved him too much for that.

"I thought I was too," Bilbo said sadly. "But I wasn't, Thorin. I was _never_ happy." **_That is right, my love_ , **the Ring whispered encouragingly. **_The dwarf never made you happy. All he did was cause you pain. Send him away_.**

"Do you regret our time together?" Thorin asked meeting Bilbo's hazel eyes and demanding an answer. "Do you regret what we did? Did I truly break that promise as well?"

"No," Bilbo replied. "I do not regret it. But . . . I don't know that I can continue it either. I think it would be better for us both if you leave, Thorin. All we are doing is deluding ourselves. There is no future for us. There never was. I think we both know it." Thorin felt as if Bilbo had ripped out his heart with the words. Bilbo, his Bilbo, wanted him to leave. Bilbo was done with him.

Bilbo expected an argument, but instead Thorin nodded sadly, his expression defeated."I will leave tomorrow," Thorin said in a choked whisper. "If that is what you wish, I will leave tomorrow. But . . . for tonight, will you take one final walk with me? I . . . I would . . . I would like one final memory of us. I would like to walk with you under the trees of the Shire in the moonlight just as we always spoke of. Please?" There were undeniably tears in Thorin's eyes this time and Bilbo felt his resolve for a clean break begin to weaken.

He _loved_ Thorin, seeing his dwarf in tears nearly broke him. This was not the same Thorin that he had traveled with all those years ago. This was a kinder, softer, more open version. The Thorin he had known would never have allowed Bilbo to see him cry. He would never have admitted to such a tender desire. He would never have _begged_ for it even if he did desire it. Death had softened his shell and left behind Thorin as he always should have been. Not the hard, bitter thing, but a slightly-fragile dwarf that _craved_ love and stability and dedicated himself to the object of it with the same fire that he gave everything in life that he cared for. The same drive that had led him to try to take on a dragon with thirteen dwarves and a hobbit for his nephews.

As Bilbo watched, one of the tears escaped his sapphire blue eyes and Bilbo reached out to tenderly cup his bearded cheek and wipe it away. He could deny this version—the vulnerable version—of his lover nothing. This was what he had always wanted from Thorin to begin with. He had not wanted gold or kingdoms, he had wanted the dwarf, the tenderness and kindness that he could see peering out through the cage of distance on occasion. _This_ Thorin he could be happy with.

This Thorin he _had_ been happy with the past couple of days. As he thought about it he began to realize that coming back from death had changed Thorin. He had been warmer, kinder, quicker to laugh and smile . . . He was now what Bilbo had only seen glimpses of before and Bilbo knew that he _could_ love him.

 ** _What of his disregard for your thoughts and feelings, my love?_** the Ring pressed, feeling its control of Bilbo beginning to slip as he allowed his love of the dwarf to fill him. **_Even this version can harm you. What of what he did today?_** Bilbo knew that the other voice was right, but he could still not bring himself to deny Thorin's final request.

"I will walk with you," Bilbo agreed. "One final time. But tomorrow . . ."

"I will go willingly," Thorin replied leaning into Bilbo's hand and savoring what might be the last touch they shared. "You need not have me thrown from your home. I will leave if you ask it of me in the morning. I will not force you to endure my continued presence past tonight."


	25. Confronting the Ring

Thorin led Bilbo out the door of his home and along the path, taking a circuitous route to the clearing where he had taken Bilbo the day that Bilbo and Dwalin had fought and where he had cried earlier. He and Gandalf had decided that it might be best to do this outside and away from any prying ears. He had halfway been worried that Bilbo would not come with him willingly and had been prepared to carry the hobbit from the house bodily if it proved necessary. Gandalf only said that Bilbo had to give up the Ring willingly, not that he had to come to the meeting in the same way.

It had proved unnecessary, but what _had_ happened . . . it had broken Thorin's heart for Bilbo to say such things. Though he had never heard one before, Thorin recognized a break-up speech when he heard one. Bilbo was done with him. His hobbit no longer loved him. He had endured all of the pain, and anguish and gone through all the trouble of returning for nothing. Bilbo did not want him and he knew that Dís would want nothing to do with him. He could not return to Erebor for fear of upsetting Dáin's rule. He was alone in the world with nowhere to go.

Not for the first time in his life, Thorin cursed the Valar for what they were putting him through. He knew now for certain that they had only returned him to the world of the living to punish him. Gandalf had told him that the Ring was reacting to his presence and the threat he posed to its possession of Bilbo. If he had never returned, Bilbo might never have gone mad. If he had never returned Bilbo would have been fine.

 _Yes,_ the voice that almost sounded like Bilbo's from earlier chastised, _and if you hadn't've, Gandalf might never have gotten around to taking the Ring from him at all and he might have become like that creature._ Thorin sighed. The voice was right. Gandalf _had_ been dreadfully negligent of Bilbo and might never have remembered to remove the Ring. His only hope was that it was not too late for Bilbo. Even if the hobbit never spoke to him again, he could not bear the thought of Bilbo suffering through madness for the rest of his life. He would almost rather take Bilbo's life himself rather than allow him to fade from himself. If they failed . . . he might do just that. Bilbo . . . the hobbit he knew would not want to live such a half-life and if they failed . . . that was all that he would have. It would be more merciful by far to put him out of his misery before he lost himself completely.

But the thought of taking Bilbo's life . . . Thorin knew that he could not do it, even as a mercy killing. He could not bear to be the one that shed Bilbo's blood. It was not as if he had a weapon with which to do it even if he could. He had no sword, no axe. Sting was not sufficient. The only way that he would kill his hobbit would be to painlessly behead him and Sting was not large enough to do the job. He could always borrow one of Dwalin's axes but . . . the thought of explaining to the warrior why he wanted it, of seeing the pain and understanding in Dwalin's eyes  . . . no. He could not kill Bilbo, even for both of their goods.

He would not kill Bilbo and he would not allow him to live as he was. That only left him one option: the Ring had to go.

"Thorin," Bilbo said quietly from beside him, pulling him out of his dark thoughts. "Do we have a destination or are we merely wandering?"

"Does it matter?" Thorin replied with a weak attempt at a smile.

"No," Bilbo said, looking away from the pain in Thorin's eyes and smile. He couldn't stand that he had caused it. "It is only . . . this is embarrassing when you take into account that I once walked across nearly the entirety of Arda but . . . I am growing tired. We've been wandering for quite some time and I don't seem to have the energy I used to. Not today." 

"We are almost to the destination I had planned, Bilbo," Thorin sighed. "It is not much further. If you would prefer, I can—"

"If it's not far I can walk," Bilbo cut in. "Provided there is a rest stop planned."

"We will spend a fair amount of time there," Thorin promised. Bilbo nodded and continued on at Thorin's side, plodding wearily along. If he recognized where they were headed he gave no sign of it. It was only when he caught sight of Gandalf that he sprang back to full life, his sharp eyes darting around warily as the madness began to stir.

"Gandalf," Bilbo said, the madness burning brightly in his eyes, "whatever are you doing here? You _and_ Thorin." At the end the tone was hard and suspicious. Unlike Bilbo, the Ring was not confused in the least as to why the dwarf and the wizard had led the hobbit out into the woods alone. It just wanted one of them to say it so that Bilbo would hear and know. Due to this, the Ring only took partial control of the hobbit, wanting Bilbo to still be there to witness it all.

"I think you know why we are all here, Bilbo," Gandalf replied. He hated to address the Ring by the name of his dear friend but he could see no other option. He couldn't very well call Bilbo 'Ring.' The hobbit eyed him darkly for a moment before realizing that it had no way to intimidate the wizard and no ammunition with which to hurt him and turned instead to the dwarf, who had proved to be such an easy target. Thorin flinched as he met Bilbo's eyes and realized it was no longer Bilbo he was dealing with; the Ring was back.

"You," Ring-Bilbo snarled. "You brought me out here so that there would be no one to stop you from harming me for ending things between us. Do you intend to kill me as you did your nephews—though how you can do it and still plead innocence this time without the ability to provoke a war to do your dirty work, I do not know—or do you   _merely_ intend assault me once more. I am old and frail now. An assault like the one you carried out all those years ago might just kill me."

"I intend to do neither of those things to you, Bilbo," Thorin replied, not attempting to keep the pain the Ring's words caused him from his face. He remembered what Bilbo had said only moments before about the fact that he hid his emotions being a major barrier between them and had seen how well Bilbo had responded to seeing what he was feeling. He knew that he had to use every advantage he had if he was to accomplish this task and it made it easier to focus on the task at hand if he was not preoccupied with concealing what he felt.

"Then why did you lead me here?" Ring-Bilbo demanded. "Surely if all the two of you wanted to do was _talk_ we could have done it at home where the others could see. Were you so ashamed of your plans that you hid them from your kin, Thorin? Just as you always hid things from me?"

"There is no shame to be had in what we intend to do," Thorin argued. "In fact, what we are doing is perhaps the most honorable thing I have ever done in my entire life. We know about the Ring, Bilbo."

"What of it, Thorin?" Bilbo asked, curiosity rather than madness in his hazel eyes as his lover brought up his magic Ring. Why had they brought him out here to talk about the Ring? What about it could make this the noblest thing that Thorin had ever done? Even more than settling his homeless people? And why did they have to be in the middle of the woods to do it? Bilbo would have spoken of the Ring in front of the others. They all knew of it anyway, even Frodo.

"We know that you still have it," Thorin said nonchalantly, trying to keep Bilbo with him rather than the Ring knowing that he could not reason with such an evil thing. But Bilbo . . . Bilbo he could reason with. Bilbo was logical to a fault, a trait that had infuriated Thorin more than once but one that he relied on now to see them through this.  

"I-I do," Bilbo admitted confusion beginning to build within him. "But . . . but what does it have to do with anything, Thorin. It's only a trinket." He paused to give a small laugh before he continued, "A _useful_ trinket to be sure and many aspects of our quest would have gone differently without it but it's a trinket all the same."

"A trinket that led you to lie to me, Bilbo?" Thorin asked simply, the pain of the deception burning in his eyes but no condemnation in his tone. He had lied to Bilbo after all, even if he hadn't meant to do so. He was in no position to judge Bilbo for lying to him sixty years ago. No matter how it hurt him that his hobbit had.

"What?" Bilbo breathed shocked both at the statement that he had lied and the pain that he saw in Thorin that the dwarf thought he had. "I never . . . I didn't lie to you, Thorin. I . . . I don't remember . . . "

"You didn't lie to me and tell me that the creature Gollum _gave_ you the Ring as a reward for winning the riddle game instead of telling me the truth that you found it in the dark and kept it?" Thorin asked gently, tilting his head curiously as he watched the emotions that flitted across Bilbo's face. First confusion, then frustration, then finally anger as the madness took control once more.

"The wizard told you that, did he?" Ring-Bilbo demanded, taking control once more as doubt began to stir in Bilbo and turning to glare at Gandalf for giving the dwarf the information he needed to raise such doubts.

"What if I did, Bilbo?" Gandalf asked quietly. "Are you ashamed of the truth? Are you ashamed of the fact that you lied to your mate and robbed such a pitiful creature as Gollum of the one thing he valued in this world?"

"No," Ring-Bilbo spat. "I am not ashamed. He lost it and I found it. There is no wrong in that."

"Why, if there is no wrong in it, did you lie to Thorin, your _mate_ , when you told him of the Ring?" Gandalf pressed, trying to tug on Bilbo's conscience and bring the hobbit back to them."You lied to him knowing full well how much it would hurt him when he learned that you had lied to him after he trusted you. When you knew just how difficult trust is for him to give out?"

Thorin shot a look of disdain at the wizard for Gandalf's less than flattering description of himself. He would _love_ to see how the wizard would have coped after having everything and everyone he loved taken from him while he was forced to watch and watching others watch while they did nothing to stop it. He made it sound as if Thorin was damaged and someone to be pitied for the damage and he resented Gandalf for using him in such a way. Until he heard Bilbo speak again and realized that it had worked. Bilbo was back. He ignored Gandalf's smug smirk as he turned his attention back to his apologetic mate.

"I . . . I don't . . . I don't know," Bilbo said with a small sound of frustration. He looked nearly panicked as he glanced back at Thorin. "I . . . I'm so sorry, Thorin. I don't know why I lied to you. I . . . I don't remember deciding to do it . . . I . . . I must have done it because . . ."

 ** _You did it because the dwarf is greedy, my love,_** the Ring prompted, knowing that hearing the words coming in Bilbo's tone would hurt the dwarf more than if it said them itself. **_Do you not recall how he risked your life for gold. He would have taken the Ring from you. He would have claimed it as his own if you had not told him you won it. If you had merely found it . . . he could have laid claim to it as your contractor._**

"I . . . I feared that you would take it," Bilbo replied wondering if that was actually what had happened. _Had_ he feared Thorin at that time? He couldn't remember ever fearing Thorin. Not even when the dwarf had been prepared to kill him. He had been heartbroken but he hadn't felt fear. To fear one had to care if one died and Bilbo had not cared. He had almost welcomed death at the time, so great was his heartbreak. **_Yes, you feared him, my love_** , the same voice whispered and Bilbo accepted it. **_It was so useful and dwarves do love gold. He sacrificed his kin for gold and you were only a contracted hobbit, after all. Not even one of his kin. What is your life worth to him?_**

 "Such a _useful_ thing and gold beside," Bilbo continued seeing the logic of the quiet voice. "I know how you dwarves feel about gold. I was worried that if I had simply found it . . . I _was_ contracted as a burglar after all. Anything I found you could claim but what I'd _won_ . . . well that was a different story."

"You thought that I would rob you?" Thorin breathed incredulously. He was deeply hurt that Bilbo could think that he was so base as to rob anyone, let alone his own mate. He could never take what rightfully belonged to another. Not when so much had already been taken from him by the actions of others. He felt anger flood his veins that Bilbo knew him so poorly to think that he could do that. For a millisecond he tried to push it down before he decided not to. He may have been trying to win Bilbo back but if Bilbo wanted emotions and openness he was going to get them. All of them. With this thought in mind, Thorin made no attempt to hide his hurt or anger as he continued

"I have _many_ flaws, Bilbo Baggins," Thorin growled, anger and indignation in his tone, "and I have done _many_ things that I am not proud of—many of them involving _you_ —but I have _never_ stolen _anything_ from _anyone_. You would _not_ have been the first."

"I-I know that, Thorin," Bilbo replied attempting to appease the angered dwarf still shocked at the emotion Thorin was displaying. Even if anger was not a new one to Bilbo, the hurt underneath it being on display was. He had seen anger from hurt before but then the hurt had only been there if you knew what to look for. It had only been visible in a tenseness around his eyes and mouth but now . . . now it was on full display. You would not have had to know Thorin well to know that Bilbo had just wounded him.

 "I . . . I don't know where that came from," Bilbo continued squeezing his eyes shut and fisting his hands in his curly hair as his own emotions and knowledge of his mate warred with his certainty that Thorin _would_ have tried to take it. "I know that you are no thief. I don't . . ."

"It came from the Ring, Bilbo," Gandalf said gently placing a hand on the hobbit's shoulder, his heart constricting as he saw Bilbo's confusion. "My dear hobbit, that is no mere trinket you carry."

"What do you . . . " Bilbo began only to find that he could not find the words he was searching for. It was almost as if part of his brain had been blocked off when it came to questioning the Ring. He tried again and found that he was unable to think about the Ring other than to praise its usefulness. He felt panic begin to flood his veins and turned to the wizard for an explanation.

 "Gandalf?" Bilbo whispered in a pathetic voice that broke the hearts of both Thorin and Gandalf at the helplessness there. "What . . . I can't . . . why?" The last word was little more than a sob and the wizard knelt to be more on Bilbo's level and placed a hand on both of his shoulders to look into his eyes.

"That Ring is evil, Bilbo," Gandalf said steadily, gently, never breaking eye contact with the hobbit before him. "It is affecting your mind. It is the reason for the thoughts that you cannot place, and the cause of your bouts of 'madness,' as you are calling them. They are not madness, Bilbo, but rather the manifestation of the Ring. It is not you, my dear hobbit. None of what you have done in those bouts of madness are your own actions."

"I don't understand," Bilbo said desperately. "It's just a ring. It doesn't have a consciousness. How can it have a manifestation?"

"What do you know of Sauron?" Gandalf asked.

"Very little," Bilbo replied even as he felt part of his mind rebel at the question. "Why?"

"That is inconsequential," Gandalf said. "You do know of him, correct?"

"I do," Bilbo agreed. "But what does he have to do with my magic Ring?"

"I believe that your Ring is _the_ Ring that Sauron forged," Gandalf replied. "It is only speculation at this point, mind, but I believe that I am right about the nature of it even if I am not correct as to its identity. The Ring _is_ evil, Bilbo. It is corrupting you."

 ** _The wizard lies, my love_** , the Ring whispered desperately. It _had_ to have this hobbit. Its master was beginning to stir, it wanted to return to him. If it lost this host . . . that did not bear consideration. It _had_ to do what it took to keep Bilbo Baggins. **_He only wishes to take the Ring from you so that he can have it for his own. Watch, the next thing he will say is that you should give it to him. Mark my words. Just as he always has, he will only use you as a means to his own ends. Just as he did in taking you from your safe home and leading you into danger and heartbreak._**

"Evil?" Bilbo asked suspiciously, doubts about Gandalf's motivations both now and in the past beginning to stir within him.

"Yes, Bilbo," Gandalf replied. "The Ring is evil and has a consciousness of its own."

"If that's true, why am I not evil?" Bilbo asked. "I've had it for sixty years and nothing has happened until Thorin . . . does Thorin have something to do with this?" The dwarf shifted uncomfortably at the question and the sharp glance his mate leveled in his direction. The last time he had felt this uncomfortable had been when he had been caught misbehaving by his father as a dwarfling. He had hoped that this part would not come up; he knew that it would only provide the Ring with ammunition against him but he would not lie to Bilbo. Not again.

"I-I may," Thorin replied. "We . . . the Ring may view me as a threat. It . . . it knows that the love you have for me is a threat to its possession of you. Some of this is my fault. I am so very sorry, Bilbo. I never meant to cause you more pain."

"Say I believe you," Bilbo said slowly, looking between the two of them suspiciously as he wondered if Gandalf had brought Thorin back as a means of getting the Ring for himself. "Say I believe that my magic Ring is the evil Ring of Sauron and has been poisoning my mind silently for sixty years until your return triggered it, what can we do about it? If it has so damaged my mind, what do we do?"

"If we separate the Ring from you, your episodes should fade and in time stop entirely," Gandalf said sadly. "I cannot promise that as an outcome but if it remains with you . . . this will only worsen, Bilbo. Soon, they will not be episodes. The Ring _will_ take control of you just as it did Gollum. You will become just as the creature you encountered in the goblin caves. It has already begun. You know this. You _know_ there are two consciousnesses in your body. Give up the Ring, Bilbo." **_See, my love, nothing but threats. He is trying to frighten you into relinquishing your prize. He wants it for himself. Nothing more._**

"You want it for yourself!" Bilbo snapped, echoing the voice of the Ring. "You care not for me! You merely seek to gain a new trinket. Do you truly begrudge me this little bit of power, Gandalf?"

"Foolish hobbit!" Gandalf snapped seeming to grow taller and more menacing at the lie. "Do you know me no better than that after all this time! I do not wish you ill! I am trying to help you, Bilbo Baggins. Has the Ring truly twisted your mind to the extent that you cannot tell friend from foe? You turn on your mate, you turn on me, who is next? Frodo? Does Frodo only want the Ring for himself?"

"Of course not!" Bilbo replied. "Frodo's a hobbit! He has no such ambitions." **_Are you sure, my love,_** the Ring whispered. **_Frodo could seek power. Can you truly say that Frodo would never take it from you?_**

 _Yes,_ Bilbo though vehemently. For the first time he truly believed what Gandalf had said. For the first time he began to believe that something other than himself was manipulating his thoughts. As much as it shamed him, his doubts about Thorin and Gandalf had not convinced him. He supposed it made sense, Thorin _had_ betrayed his trust once before and part of him—an unacknowledged part—had _always_ blamed Gandalf for his heartbreak. But Frodo . . . his cousin had _never_ done anything to warrant any kind of distrust from him. Frodo was good, honest, every bit a proper hobbit despite the misfortunes life had thrown at him and Frodo loved him. No. Frodo would never do anything to cause him ill and any part of him that though so was not truly part of him.

 ** _Are you really sure?_** the Ring whispered, belatedly realizing its mistake and trying desperately to regain control of Bilbo. ** _You were once nothing more than a proper hobbit. Look at you now; not only did you go on an adventure but you took up fornicating with a male dwarf. No respectable hobbit would do such a thing and once you were one of the most respectable. None would now argue that you respectable in the least. Who is to say that Frodo will not follow the same path and that once he does he will not want the Ring?_** Rather than have the effect that the Ring had hoped for, Bilbo let out a shuddering gasp before looking at Thorin with sad pleading eyes.

The dwarf flinched at the desperation there. Bilbo had never looked at him like that before. The only time that had come close had been when he had been dangling off the side of the pass in the Misty Mountains. He had looked to Thorin to save him then and was doing it once more, despite all of his words about lack of trust and love. And just as then, Thorin could not leave Bilbo to struggle alone, even if he destroyed himself in the process.

 "Help me," Bilbo pleaded his voice small and his tone pitiful. Thorin could not say no. Had no desire to say no. Instead, he stepped forward and gently cupped Bilbo's cheek with his hand looking into the tear-filled eyes of his mate.

"I am trying, Bilbo," he breathed. "I will help you if you will only _let_ me. Only _you_ can save yourself from this, but I am here to help you do so in any way I can."

 ** _The dwarf lies, my love_** , the Ring whispered desperately. It could not lose the hobbit. Not now. Not after so long. It could feel its control slipping and knew that it needed to up the stakes. **_He is lying to you just as he always has._**

 _No,_ Bilbo thought in reply as he took in Thorin's open, unguarded expression. There was nothing there but love and devotion. He knew in that moment that Thorin was telling him the truth. Even after he had ended it between them, Thorin was still there and he only wanted to help. Thorin had nothing to gain from this and he was still there.

  _He's not lying to me,_ Bilbo continued mentally _. He has never intentionally lied to me and he is not lying now. True, he has broken promises, but he did mean them when he said them. He means this now. _ 

 ** _Regardless of whether or not he meant to, he still broke them_** , the Ring countered. Rather than listen to it, Bilbo looked at Thorin, determination in his hazel eyes.

"What must I do?" Bilbo asked. "What must I do to be free of this?" Thorin looked at him sadly for a moment, knowing that what he was about to say would not be well received before he sighed.

"You know what you must do,  âzyungâl," Thorin said. "You know that there is only one option. Will you truly make me say it?" Bilbo looked at him almost as if he was confused and Thorin sighed once more. "You must give up the Ring, Bilbo. It is the only way." Thorin felt anger flood his veins as the-thing-that-looked-like-Bilbo swatted his hand away.

"You would say that, Thorin," Ring-Bilbo snarled taking control once more in an attempt to provoke Thorin to violence and shatter Bilbo's faith in him once more. Even if such a thing ended in Bilbo's death, it was fine. The Ring always had more control more quickly when it passed to a new host through violence. A dwarves . . . with their greed it would be simple to manipulate him. Additionally he had no one. If they would not allow the hobbit to keep the Ring, it was content to pass to the dwarf. "Your greed _would_ lead you to suggest such a thing! You have never cared for anything other than fame and greed!"

"If it was greed and desire for the Ring I would already have taken it, Bilbo," Thorin replied coldly. "You have already said that if I wished to kill you I could easily do so. If I truly wanted the Ring for myself I would not waste time attempting to persuade you to part with it. If I was as greedy as you claim, I would simply take it. If I cared so little for you as you claim your life would not matter enough for me to restrain myself from my _greed_. Clearly you are wrong about at least one of those things."

"Who's to say that you won't?" Ring-Bilbo demanded. For a moment, Thorin allowed himself to pretend that it was _his_ Bilbo that had said such a cruel thing to him and allowed the pain of such a thought into his face and his words.

"Do you truly think me capable of such a thing?" Thorin whispered. "Do you truly think that I could murder and then rob you?"

"No," Bilbo whimpered. "I . . . I don't think that. I . . . Thorin, please, help me. I . . . I don't think any of that about you. I . . . help me!"

"I want to,  âzyungâl," Thorin replied moving so that Bilbo was cradled gently against his chest and whispering into the hobbit's ear. "I want to help you. Help me to help you. Give me the Ring. Or throw it away if you do not wish me to have it. Get rid of the Ring, Bilbo. If not for yourself, then do it for me. For Frodo. It hurts us to see you this way. I know that you do not want to keep hurting us, my dear hobbit." Bilbo drew a shuddering breath before Thorin felt him nod against his chest and step back slightly.

His hand shook as he reached for the pocket of his waistcoat where the Ring had resided for sixty years. He knew that it was for the best, but he was reluctant to part with it. It had been so useful. He glanced at Thorin and the dwarf gave him a reassuring smile and nod and with a deep sigh, Bilbo pulled the Ring from his pocket and held it inside his closed hand. He extended it towards Thorin, his hand still securely wrapped around the little bit of warm gold. It felt so heavy in his hand, almost as if it weighed more than it had only moments before. With a conscious effort, Bilbo forced his hand open and allowed Thorin to see the Ring for the first time.

Thorin could not keep the sneer off his face as he saw the little bit of gold that had swayed his mate against him and had done so much harm to Bilbo even before that. He had never before felt such hatred for gold. The only thing that came close was his resentment at the gold of his grandfather for causing the loss of his nephews and his mate, but then, the hatred had been more internally directed. The gold itself had not killed them; it had been his own choices that had done that. Here . . . here it was the gold itself that was intent on destroying lives. He watched as Bilbo's hand shook as if under a great weight and reached forward to place his hand on the hobbit's shoulder only to have his hand batted away before Bilbo curled around his hand protectively.

"You would strike me over a tiny bit of gold," Thorin asked in a quiet, pain-filled voice as he saw just how changed Bilbo had truly become.

"Why not?" Bilbo snarled, his voice midway between the Bilbo that Thorin loved and the voice the Ring used to speak and it simultaneously broke the dwarf's heart and filled him with rage. "You did me."

"Yes," Thorin agreed swallowing around the pain of being reminded of just what he had done to his mate all those years ago. He could still feel the sting on the back of his hand where he had struck Bilbo and could see the shock in his hazel eyes and the livid red mark on his cheek and the blood where his lip had split. All damage written into his skin and soul by Thorin's hand. Though it had paled in comparison to what had followed.

"I did," Thorin acknowledged again. "And you called me a fool for it. And rightly so. But tell me this, Bilbo Baggins. If I was a fool for doing so, what does that make _you_? You who was once the wisest of us all and told me that Erebor could not survive on gold alone and that we would need the goodwill of the surrounding lands unless dwarves were capable of eating gold, as hobbits were not. You who was the only one of us who realized that gold was not worth lives before it was too late and the lives were already lost.

"Tell me," Thorin continued around the tears that threatened to fall as the bitter memories of those fateful last days in the mountain were drug to the surface once more, "if I was a fool for losing your trust to my own gold-madness, what does that make you for losing yourself to it?" Bilbo's face softened at the admitance of Thorin's foolishness and the dwarf's praises of his intelegence but there was still a nagging voice that refused to be silenced.

"But . . . Gandalf," Bilbo began.

"My opinions on the old wizard aside," Thorin said with a snort, "he has yet to lead you wrong, Bilbo. He has been a good friend to you and has always provided you with good council. If it weren't for the stubbornness of dwarves." Thorin smirked at the wizard and thought that he saw Gandalf's mouth quirk upward before he turned back to Bilbo.

"Come now, âzyungâl, give me the Ring," Thorin said extending his hand palm up towards Bilbo. Bilbo hesitated, the voice in his mind screaming that Thorin and Gandalf were in this together and only sought his ruin. _No,_ Bilbo thought firmly as he looked from one pained set of blue eyes to the other, _they do not._ With a deep sigh, he extended his hand before he could change his mind and dropped the Ring into Thorin's hand before pulling his hand back as if he had been scalded.  

As soon as it hit his skin, the Ring changed its temperature to match his own warmer temperature and grew in size so that it would fit his fingers rather than Bilbo's. Only half a second later he heard it begin to whisper to him, promising gold and power and fame. He heard himself laugh humorlessly. Sixty years ago that might have worked—no, _would_ have worked—but not now. Now he desired none of those things. What he wanted, the Ring could not offer him. With a sneer on his face, he dropped it into the envelope that they had brought just for that purpose and slipped it into his pocket to be sealed once they returned to Bag End.

Their task was accomplished. Bilbo was separated from the Ring, however, he felt no sense of accomplishment. He knew that the task was done but he could not stop himself from worrying that Gandalf was wrong about the effect that the separation would have. After all, Thorin, fate and luck had never been good friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay all, this one was difficult to write and school blows. That said, I hope that you enjoyed it! (Though if you didn't and it was crap I would love to know so that I can rework it ... again :/)


	26. A Risk and One More Night

As soon as the Ring was in Thorin's pocket, Bilbo shuddered and took a deep breath.

"How do you feel, Bilbo?" Gandalf asked watching as the hobbit before him continually shook his head almost as if trying to discourage rather persistent midges.

"Strange," the hobbit replied, his voice revealing his confusion. "I almost feel as if . . . it almost feels like something is . . . _missing_ but it feels . . . it feels _right_. Almost as if what's missing didn't belong there in the first place."

"That's because it did not, my dear hobbit," Gandalf replied. "It was never meant to be there. This is how things were meant to be." Bilbo nodded before he stifled a yawn behind his hand.

"I'm sorry, Gandalf," Bilbo said once he could. "I'm just very tired all of a sudden. I'm rather embarrassed. I haven't even done anything today. Aside from moping in my room that is."

"It was a rather exciting day before you took to moping though," Thorin said quietly as he rejoined the conversation and wrapped an arm hesitantly around Bilbo as the hobbit swayed on his feet. He wasn't sure Bilbo would appreciate his touch after what had passed between them that evening before they left the house but he couldn't stand by and watch Bilbo fall.

"Thorin," Bilbo said looking up at him with sad hazel eyes. "I am so sorry about—"

"I do not need your apology, Bilbo," Thorin cut him off with a gentle smile. "Nor do I want it. It wasn't you. It was . . ." Thorin trailed off unsure if he should mention the Ring so soon after they were separated. "I do not hold you responsible, though I do hold myself responsible for my reaction. I did not injure you, did I?"

"I'm fine," the hobbit replied leaning into the familiar warmth of the dwarf and nuzzling his chest sleepily. "It's only a few bruises. I've had worse."

"That does not make me feel better, Bilbo," Thorin replied sadly. "Especially not when I was the one to give you worse. The fact that I could—"

"Thorin, can we not do this tonight?" Bilbo asked quietly, his words muffled by both Thorin's shirt and sleep. "I . . . not tonight, please?"

"If you wish," Thorin replied. "This can wait, but we will have this conversation, My—Bilbo."

"Thank you," the hobbit muttered, his eyes drifting closed. Thorin smiled indulgently at the hobbit sleeping against him. He had seen the hobbit so weary that he could not stand, but he had never seen Bilbo so tired as to fall asleep standing up. Suddenly he felt inexplicably sad. Bilbo's fatigue worried him and he only just realized what they had actually accomplished that day.

"Wizard," he said turning towards Gandalf with sad eyes as he lifted Bilbo and began making their way back towards Bag End, "tell me, is the _thing_ in my pocket the reason Bilbo has not aged? Is it because of it that he looks the same as he did sixty years ago?"

"Yes," Gandalf said sadly. "The Ring delayed the physical aging process. It is the cause of his longevity."

"So now that we've taken it . . ."

"Yes," the wizard replied simply, not needing Thorin to finish the question to know what the dwarf was trying to ask. "Bilbo will begin to age once more. But that is the natural order of things. All things that are born must someday die. As much as it pains me, that includes Bilbo Baggins."

"Will he . . . how long will he have?" Thorin asked in a choked voice. It seemed unbearably cruel to him that to save Bilbo's mind he may have just ended his life. "I mean, will he follow the same pattern that he would have sixty years ago? Will he have another fifty years or will he die tomorrow for outliving his lifespan?"

"I cannot answer that question, Thorin," Gandalf sighed. "This is nearly unprecedented. Rarely has this particular Ring stayed with a single host long enough to extend their lifespan. It actually tends to lead to their premature deaths by the hands of others who lusted for it. There is only one other that has experienced this."

"Gollum," Thorin sighed, hating that that creature was the only living thing that he could compare his mate—ex-mate, he reminded himself bitterly—to. "Do you know . . . does he still live?"

"He lives," Gandalf replied. "I do not know where he is at this time however I know that he lives." Thorin felt a bit of relief. He was unsure just how old the creature was but if he was still alive it boded well for Bilbo's continued existence.

"So there is still hope," Thorin said quietly.

"My dear dwarf, there is always hope," Gandalf replied gently. Thorin sneered at Gandalf's useless platitudes and instead turned to more practical matters, like what to do with the vile bit of gold in his pocket. 

"What do you intend to do with the Ring, Gandalf," Thorin asked suddenly.

"I? I intend to do nothing with it," the wizard replied. "I will not touch the accursed thing. I dare not."

"It _cannot_ stay here," Thorin snarled irritated that Gandalf _still_ refused to take responsibility for his actions. "I will not have it near any that I care about. If you will not take it, I will destroy it. I can take it to the forge with me tomorrow and—"

"That will not work, Thorin," Gandalf replied sadly. "No forge in Middle Earth is hot enough to destroy that Ring."

"I beg to differ," the dwarf countered affronted that the wizard would seek to correct him on this matter. Gandalf may be a wizard and, as such, wise in many things but where metal was concerned, his people were the masters.

"It is gold," Thorin continued. "Gold is quite easy to melt and shape. The forge Tom runs here will melt iron. Gold will stand no chance of maintaining its shape."

"That is no ordinary gold, Thorin," Gandalf sighed. "Sauron . . . you cannot destroy it by fire. Not even dragon fire would melt that Ring. It can only be destroyed where it was forged."

"And where is that?" Thorin asked exasperatedly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes as he realized that Gandalf was attempting to persuade him into yet another quest. This was the same way he had gone about proposing the quest to reclaim Erebor and Thorin wished that he would just get on with it. He couldn't understand why the old wizard insisted on taking a round-about method to everything he did.

"Orodruin," Gandalf replied simply. "Also called Mount Doom. It is a volcano in the heart of Mordor. To be destroyed the Ring must be cast into the pits from whence it came."

"If it must," Thorin sighed. Even though he knew there was a new quest in the making he still hated to hear it. And to Mordor no less. _Why do Gandalf's quests always seem to be impossible to accomplish?_ he asked himself. When he had met Gandalf in Bree, the wizard had offered to help him reclaim his home from Smaug but, as Thorin had learned, what Gandalf _should_ have said was: ' _Yes, Thorin, I will help you retake your home from the dragon Smaug, though I do intend to disappear quite frequently and only reappear at the last possible moment. Did I say "help"? What I meant was, I will guide you but the dragon . . . he is your problem, my dear dwarf, not mine. And terribly sorry about the two months you spent in a dungeon. Dreadful business that.'_  Thorin sighed once more, knowing that this new quest would be much the same. Even so, he also knew that he had no choice but to offer to go.

"After Bilbo's birthday, I will take a contingent of dwarves, if any will still follow me, and destroy the Ring," Thorin said sadly. He hated to leave even then, but he knew that it was pointless to stay. Bilbo had made his own wishes quite clear and Thorin knew that he was not welcome. No matter how it pained him to know it.

"I wish it were that simple," Gandalf replied  with a sigh of his own. "The volcano has long been dormant. Until it awakens we cannot destroy the Ring."

"So you expect us to just hold onto it until the volcano becomes active once more, _if_ it ever does?" Thorin demanded incredulously. At his raised voice Bilbo stirred restlessly in his arms and he forced himself to calm so as not to wake the exhausted old hobbit.

"That is unacceptable, Gandalf," he hissed his tone quieter though his anger was no less. "The Ring _cannot_ stay here. I _will_ _not_ risk Bilbo succumbing to it once more. _You_ need to think of another solution. This entire situation is your fault, after all. Had you never involved him in my quest none of this would have ever happened. You _will not_ neglect his needs again. The Ring must leave."

"And where would you have it go, Thorin Oakenshield?" Gandalf demanded. "Who would you risk to ensure that it leaves the Shire." Thorin did not reply but his glare said it all. He would risk whomever to ensure that Bilbo remained safe.

"There is nowhere it can go," Gandalf sighed wearily. "The Elves will not take it. Nor will I. Nor will Saruman. The only place that would be left would be your own people. The Ring _might_ be able to remain in the treasury of Erebor, safe from those who would use it for ill. However it is also possible that its mere presence would be enough to pollute Dáin's mind as it did your own. And as your grandfather's ring did both Thráin and Thror's. Could you live with that, Thorin?" Thorin sighed. He knew that he could not. He would not risk his cousin's mind and the fate of his people.

"I cannot stay here," Thoin repeated almost desperately.

"I am afraid that it must," the wizard said. "Hobbits truly are marvelous creatures, Thorin. They are peaceful until they are riled and even then their hearts are gentle and filled with mercy. Bilbo's mercy in how he took the Ring—his refusal to kill Gollum—is what enabled him to retain some of himself after so long. I know that the reason you fear the Ring staying here so is the peacefulness of this land but that is the very thing that makes this place ideal."

"So you would hide evil in a land of peace," Thorin sighed. "You take a high risk, Gandalf. Are you _certain_ that there is no other way."

"I wish that I were not," Gandalf replied. Thorin thought about it for a moment and he had a sudden idea.

"You said that there is no way to destroy the Ring, yes?" Thorin asked.

"Not outside of Mordor," Gandalf qualified. Thorin nodded knowing that was what the wizard had meant.

"If I was to encase it in iron would that be enough to muffle its pull on Bilbo?" Thorin asked. "It cannot leave the Shire, and it cannot stay near him. What if I was to encase it in iron and burry it? Would that work?"

"It is possible," Gandalf said. "I cannot guarantee that it will. Nor can I say that it will not. I cannot see where it would do any harm." Thorin nodded. It was decided. He would do just that. By this time they had arrived back at Bag End and Thorin offered the wizard a nod of thanks and Gandalf opened the door for him.

"Let me put him in his bed and then I will return for us to talk more on the matter and perhaps begin the initial preparations for the quest when it does become possible," Thorin said walking past Gandalf and into the home.

"You will not be staying with him?" Gandalf asked in surprise.

"No," Thorin replied, refusing to explain further. It was not Gandalf's business what happened between him and Bilbo in private.

"He did not mean what he said," Gandalf said, thinking Thorin was upset with Bilbo over the conversations he had overheard and refusing to be near him. He did not miss the hurt that flashed through Thorin's blue eyes, but the dwarf said nothing more and simply walked into Bilbo's room, closing the door behind him with his foot. Gandalf watched him go sadly. He only hoped that Thorin could find it within himself to forgive Bilbo for the things that the Ring had said. They both deserved happiness. Shaking his head, he walked into the kitchen to relay the success of their endeavor to the others.

**ooOO88OOoo**

As soon as the door closed behind him, Thorin felt himself relax slightly. He was still livid with Gandalf for insisting that the Ring remain in the Shire but he could almost see the wizard's point. With a sigh he laid Bilbo on the bed and began carefully removing the articles of clothing that Bilbo had always removed before sleep, folding them neatly and setting them on the bedside table. His movements were slow and gentle and Bilbo did not even stir as he was undressed. It was with a pang of regret that Thorin remembered the first time he had undressed another like this.

It had been his nephews. They had been so tiny, Fíli was barely even waist-high, Kíli smaller than that. It had been after an outing. They had both been so weary that they had been asleep on their feet. He remembered the way they had both felt nearly insubstantial when he had taken mercy on them and lifted the stumbling dwarflings into his arms and carried them home. It had been a bit of a distance but they were so light that even with one in each arm they had not been a burden. He had gone to put them to bed and his sister had charged him with divesting them of their clothing and boots before they were put into bed. He had been so afraid that he would harm them as he worked their limp little limbs from their sleeves and pant legs but he hadn't even managed to wake them. He had to swallow hard against the lump that formed in his throat as he remembered having to pry Kíli's hand from Fíli's hair to undress them only for Kíli to reach for his brother again in sleep and curl up against him, Fíli's golden mane tangled in his pudgy little fingers. They never outgrew that.

Even on the quest, they had slept that way; Fíli curled protectively around Kíli while Kíli clung to his brother's hair in sleep. Thorin knew because he had often found himself checking to see if they were sleeping soundly, sitting beside them for a moment and taking the chance to affectionately stroke their hair out of their closed eyes. He made sure that no one ever saw him do it, but he did it all the same. He had loved them, even if he had had difficulties showing it. And despite his occasional dark thoughts otherwise, he knew that they had know. He still remembered the knowing smirk on Fíli's face when he returned Thorin's blanket to him one morning after he had caught the boys shivering and covered them with it. Thorin had told him that it must have been an error in packing. Fíli had agreed, but his smirk revealed his knowledge of what had actually happened even if he hadn't pressed the matter. Yes, his nephews had known that he loved them. 

He closed his eyes sadly, missing them once more before he pressed down the feeling. There was nothing to do about it. They were gone and they were not coming back. Just as Bilbo now was. He may still be alive, but he was lost to Thorin forever by Bilbo's own wishes. With a sigh, he opened his eyes and bent to press a gentle kiss to the sleeping hobbit's forehead before he rose and made to leave. He stopped as he felt a small hand grasp his wrist and turned to see Bilbo gazing up at him with sad hazel eyes.

"Stay?" Bilbo asked. "Please?" Even now, Thorin could deny Bilbo nothing and lay himself beside Bilbo. His heart broke anew as Bilbo snuggled into his arms as he always had and pillowed his head on Thorin's shoulder with a contented sigh before drifting into sleep once more. Thorin sat awake long into the night, stroking Bilbo's curly hair and watching his ex-lover sleep knowing that this might be the last chance he would ever have to be privy to such an intimate moment with the hobbit. In the morning, Bilbo would once more ask him to leave and Thorin would do as he was told. He would respect Bilbo's wishes in this and every matter, no matter how it pained him. But for tonight, he would watch over the hobbit one final time and pray that morning never came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are all, a new chapter of this one! I hope that you enjoyed it. Odds are I will not be getting a new chapter up next week as I have my final exam but the good news is that after that I have 3 weeks free that I can write all I want :) So we will try to get some more chapters sandbagged for once school starts again :)


	27. An Apology and Making Up

But as always happens, dawn came. And when it did, it found Thorin in much the same place he had been the night before. He was still laying next to Bilbo in the bed and still awake, watching as the hobbit slept peacefully beside him. As the first rays of dawn began to creep through the window, his new hope was that Bilbo would sleep just a bit longer and allow him to hold onto this moment just a bit more. But almost as if fate had heard his wish and wanted to twist the blade, Bilbo began to stir, a hum in his throat and a smile on his face as he slowly came to consciousness.

Thorin froze in his stroking, hoping that if he was still Bilbo would drift off to sleep once more, but it had the opposite effect. At the loss of the stimulation, Bilbo's hazel eyes flew open and blearily locked on Thorin's face. The hobbit's first thought was that Thorin looked decidedly disheveled and immeasurably tired and sad. He could never remember seeing the dwarf look so exhausted or so defeated. It was painful for him and he extended his hand slowly to cup his dwarf's face.

"Did you not sleep at all?" Bilbo whispered when Thorin's tired blue eyes drifted shut at the contact. His only answer was a small shake of the dwarf's head. "Foolish thing! Even _you_ need sleep, Thorin. Whatever made you think that staying up all night was a _good_ idea?" The look in Thorin's eyes as they opened once more nearly caused Bilbo to flinch. He had never seen such pain in their sapphire depths before.

"If this was the last night I would get to hold you I did not intend to waste it sleeping," Thorin replied simply. Bilbo felt his heart break. Now Thorin's sadness made sense and he knew that it was his fault. _He_ —not the Ring—had been the one to tell Thorin that he was done. As he replayed their conversation the day before in his head, he realized that he didn't _want_ Thorin to go. They needed to talk, that was true, and they needed to slow things down a bit but . . . so many of the things that he had said had been untrue. Thorin hadn't only brought him sorrow. They _had_ been happy, even if the dwarf was a bit standoffish at times. Thorin had not only destroyed his life; he had saved it. While it was true that Thorin had hurt him, both emotionally and physically, he had also helped him learn his own inner strength in the process and—now that Bilbo was free of the Ring he could see it— _had_ been goaded into it both times.

While the Arkenstone debacle _had_ been an overreaction, Bilbo could now see where Thorin had come from. How many times had the dwarf spoken of that stone to Bilbo in awed tones? Bilbo had _known_ what it meant to Thorin and he had still given it away.  He had actually _relied_ on Thorin's fondness for the family heirloom to coerce him into submission and negotiation. He had acted foolishly. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Thorin had felt as betrayed by Bilbo as the hobbit had by him. Just as he had in the kitchen. Once more, Bilbo—or the Ring—had taken something said to him in confidence and used it against Thorin in public.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo whispered, unable to look at Thorin as he confessed his own faults.

"Don't be," Thorin replied harshly. "You have made the decision that is best for you. None, let alone me, can fault you for that. I only hope that you find the happiness you deserve, Bilbo. I . . ." Thorin paused to swallow heavily before he could continue, "I wish nothing but the best for you, my Burglar, even if that does not include me. I will always love you, Bilbo Baggins. In this life and the next." He made to stand, but Bilbo stopped him by refusing to release his hold on the dwarf.

"Stay," Bilbo repeated. "I'm not done just yet."

"What more do you wish to say!?" Thorin demanded angrily. "Is it not enough that you have thrown all of my failings back in my face? That you revealed every way that I have failed you as a mate? That you have made your wishes to me clear? What more do you _want_ , Bilbo? If you wish to speak more on my faults, I would ask that you just cut my heart from my chest now. It could hurt no less and the effect will be the same."

"I don't want any of that, Thorin," Bilbo said, tears filling his eyes at the pain in Thorin's voice. "I . . . I want to apologize for ever having done any of that. I shouldn't have. Just as I shouldn't have stolen from you all those years ago." Thorin blinked at him in shock. When had Bilbo— _no,_ he thought vehemently. _He can't mean to discuss **that** yet again. _ Thorin didn't know that his heart could take another fight over that thrice-damned stone.

"We have discussed this," Thorin spat. "You were not a thief. I never should have called you one. What more do you want me to say? Do you want it signed in blood that I erred? Do you want a public statement that I was a fool? I have apologized! More than once! What more do you want?!"

"I want you to let me speak!" Bilbo snapped back. "I swear! You are the most infuriating dwarf in all of Arda! Here I am trying to apologize for wronging _you_ and you act as though I want you to beg for forgiveness."

"Why do you want to apologize?" Thorin asked sadly. "I was the one who tried to kill you, who insulted you and threw away your love over a stone."

"And I was the one who knowingly took something you valued and gave it to those who came to you with armies to demand what was yours," Bilbo countered. "I wasn't entirely blameless, Thorin. I _knew_ what I did. I . . . I didn't expect you to react with quite the . . . I'm not even sure what to call it. But suffice it to say that I did not expect _that_ reaction. Even so I knew that what I did would hurt you. I just . . ." Bilbo shrugged sadly and offered Thorin a smile before he continued, "I thought that it would be worth it in the end. That if I had to hurt you to save you, so be it. I . . . I thought that I had the right to force you into a negotiation that, looking back, you attempted to take part in anyway. What I, in my youth, took for stubborn greed . . . you really were just looking out for your people. I see that now."

Thorin opened his mouth to argue and Bilbo shook his head in reply, placing a gentle hand over the dwarf's mouth to silence him. "Let me have my say and then you can tell me where I went wrong," Bilbo offered. He waited for Thorin to nod before moving his hand from the dwarf's mouth to stroke his bearded cheek with a thumb.

"I now see that had you given in as I wanted you to it would have boded ill for your kingdom," Bilbo said. "If you had . . . Bard and Thranduil would have seen that at the first hint of threat you caved to demands. Erebor would have been overrun. Waiting for Dáin . . . what I took for dwarvish pigheadedness was actually wisdom of a sort. You were never seeking a war, were you?" When Bilbo said nothing more, Thorin realized that it was a question that he was supposed to answer.

"I do not know," Thorin answered eventually. "I . . . I don't remember what I was thinking at the time, Bilbo. I don't believe that I actively sought war. I've seen too much of war to seek it but I did not fear it if it came to it. As to my motivations, I cannot truly speak to those either. Not as you wish me to. I fear, my hobbit, that there was some greed as a motivation. I did not see were Thranduil had any claim whatsoever to the gold we had worked to regain after he hindered us. Bard . . . well I am sure that you remember my words to him."

"You told him that he did have a claim and to come back without the army if he wished to discuss it," Bilbo replied.

"And I still hold that he did, though I do not know if it was honored after my death," Thorin said nodding sadly. "I hope that it was."

"It was," Bilbo replied. "As was my own. Dáin made good on your debts. Though he did keep the gold that should have been yours, Fíli and Kíli's to run Erebor. He tried to give the boys' to Dís but she refused. Said that she could live out the remainder of her days on what she had and that she did not need the blood money."  Thorin nodded sadly again. He had known that his cousin would behave honorably. Dáin was a good dwarf.

"Good," Thorin said after a moment. "He would not have had to worry had he just cleared his army from the plains and sent Thranduil on his way so that we could negotiate his repayment as I asked. I still do not feel as if that was an unreasonable request on my part. I did not seek to cheat him. If only he would have done as I asked . . . " Thorin trailed off, unwilling to blame his own failings on Bard. _He_ had not forced Thorin to attempt to kill his lover. That had been something he had done himself.

"That wouldn't have stopped the battle," Bilbo said sadly not truly realizing where Thorin's thoughts had gone. "The goblins and wargs would have come regardless. Nothing could have stopped that. The battle still would have come, Thorin. And without the armies of the Men and Elves it would have only gone more poorly. Fíli and Kíli . . . they still would have died. You didn't kill them." Thorin chose not to respond to that statement, he felt that Bilbo was wrong about that, but he couldn't change the past and he would not try, as much as he might wish to. Their deaths had bought his people peace and prosperity that they had not known, that Fíli and Kíli had _never_ truly known. As much as the thought pained him, he knew that their lives had not been lost in vain.

"I did, however, assault you," Thorin replied stubbornly, refusing to let Bilbo attempt to absolve him of all his sins.

"After I betrayed your trust," Bilbo countered. "I daresay it was a _bit_ of an overreaction on your part but moderation has never been one of your strong points." That last was said with a smirk. "Much like self-control."

"I would argue that my self-control is excellent," Thorin replied with a smirk of his own. "My sense of direction . . . I suppose that could be seen as a weak point, however." Bilbo snorted in response.

"And I say that you have neither but that it is acceptable as I have both in spades," Bilbo replied. "At any rate, it will not matter that you always get lost because I will always be there to get us un-lost again. Just as I will always be there to rescue your sorry hide when you get yourself into trouble again."

"What?" Thorin asked incredulously. Just the night before Bilbo had been telling him to leave and now . . . what exactly was it that the hobbit wanted from him?

"I said I will always be there to rescue you," Bilbo repeated. "I . . . what I said last night . . . I don't want you to go. I . . . I _need_ you to stay with me. I've missed you. Without that vile thing whispering in my ear so many things make so much more sense. There were good times, Thorin, I just couldn't remember them. I do now. I know that it is not fair of me to ask, but don't go. Please." Thorin blinked a few times attempting to understand what Bilbo had just said.

"So now you want me to stay?" the dwarf asked in an emotionless voice as he tried to process what was happening. "You have changed your mind?"

"I do," Bilbo replied. "I have. I know that it's not fair of me to—" His words were cut off in a startled squeak as Thorin tackled him gently to the bed in an embrace and pressed his lips firmly against Bilbo's. As soon as they came up for air, Bilbo laughed and said, "I take it that means you're staying?" Thorin kissed him again in reply before he pulled back and gazed down at his hobbit, his blue eyes _burning_ with love.

"My dear hobbit," Thorin replied, "at this point you will have to kill me to be rid of me again since I will never again believe that you mean what you say when you ask me to leave. After the conviction in your words last night turning into an apology and a plea to stay today . . . I _knew_ last night that you meant what you said. If you didn't mean it then . . . no words of yours will ever convince me to leave now."

"What would it take to convince you to get off me?" Bilbo asked in a pained voice, his features pinching with discomfort. Thorin quickly scrambled to get off the old hobbit before his hands began gently searching for injury with an apology on his lips.

"I'm fine," Bilbo assured him, knocking his questing hands away impatiently. "You're just a bit heavy and . . . well, my shoulders are a bit sore from being knocked against the wall." Thorin's face fell at the reminder and he looked away. "None of that now!" Bilbo exclaimed swatting the dwarf's arm. "I'm fine, I promise. I've gotten worse injuries than this. They don't even bother me if I'm not being squished by a dwarf. It's fine, Thorin. You truly were provoked. That . . . I know it wasn't truly me, but I am so sorry that what you said to me was used against you in such a fashion. Truly."

"If that is the case," Thorin replied crossly, "then do not seek to make excuses for my behavior. Provoked or not, I knew that it was not you who was saying such things to me and yet I assaulted you in your own kitchen. There is no excuse for that, Bilbo."

"Would it make you feel better if we settled this in a physical altercation?" Bilbo scoffed. "We can step into the woods and you can allow me to beat you bloody—since we both know that there is no way I could accomplish it without you allowing it. Would _that_ make you feel better?" At Thorin's speculative expression Bilbo shook his head and snorted.

"That was a sarcastic suggestion, you foolish dwarf," Bilbo snapped. "I have no intention of beating you. I'd most likely only manage to hurt myself in the process. Besides, you are beating yourself enough for the both of us. In my mind, I . . . well, the Ring, provoked you. I saw your tears, Thorin. I know how much that hurt you. I am so very sorry that—"

"Stop," Thorin cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. "I neither want nor need your apology, Bilbo. I . . . . if you truly forgive me, can we forget it. I don't think that I am worthy of being forgiven for assaulting you again but if you wish to do so can you show it by never mentioning it again? Please?"

"I can do that," Bilbo agreed. "Now! Do you think that we are the first ones up or do you think that there will be breakfast on the table? I am quite famished today for some reason."

"It could be because you didn't eat yesterday," Thorin said with a quirk in his lips at Bilbo's return to his normal demeanor. "Not eating tends to make one famished." Bilbo only tisked in response.

"I did not ask for commentary on my eating habits," Bilbo replied with a smirk. "Now, do you think they are up or will we have to cook. And by we, I mean _I_. I remember your attempts at cooking."

"My food is more than edible," Thorin countered falling into their familiar banter with a smile. "Me and the boys survived on it for years when Dís was not with us. I didn't always travel with a cook. And I spent much time on the road."

"Just like dwarvish ale is drinkable," Bilbo muttered, earning himself a light swat.

"It's not our fault that your smaller body can't handle the alcohol," Thorin retorted. "Though I will have to convince them to build a distillery here. Hobbit ale doesn't seem to be enough to cause you to become inebriated and you are _quite_ affectionate in such a state." In reply, Bilbo molded himself to Thorin's frame.

"It wasn't the alcohol," he replied with a smile before placing a chaste kiss to Thorin's neck just below his beard in a place that he knew drove his lover mad. "It was you. You make me affectionate." Thorin let out a moan as Bilbo nipped the same spot his lips had kissed only moments before.

"Stop that," the dwarf commanded half-heartedly.

"Or what?" Bilbo purred, nipping him again and smirking as Thorin moaned and raised his head to give Bilbo better access despite his protests and requests for the hobbit to stop.

"Or breakfast will have to be delayed a while longer," the dwarf threatened. "Mahal, Bilbo, I swear that if you do that again I will not be held responsible for my actions."

"You've said that before, My King," Bilbo replied cheekily. "I've found that I quite like the results of absolving you of the responsibility for your actions."

"I . . . I'm not a king," Thorin reminded him, embarrassed at his own breathlessness. "Not anymore."

"Ah," Bilbo breathed in Thorin's ear taking the time to lick behind it for good measure and loving the way Thorin hissed at the contact, "but what you forget is that as far as I am concerned you still are. I gifted my heart to a king, you see, and a king has always held it. As that is you, you will always be my king even if to the rest of the world you are just Thorin Oakenshield, blacksmith extraordinaire." The words had the exact effect that Bilbo had believed they would and before he could even blink, he was on his back on the bed with a pillow below his shoulders.

"Do you have _any_ idea what your words do to me?" Thorin demanded as he dipped his head and began nipping along Bilbo's throat as the hobbit had done his only moments before.

"I do," Bilbo replied, his smirk evident in his words. "I know _exactly_ what they do to you. I know _you_ , Thorin. I know just what to say and do to make you come undone and I love that knowledge."

"That is not one sided, Bilbo," Thorin whispered darkly. "I could do such things to you . . . in fact if you will allow it, I will. There is still the matter of our bet to be settled. It would delay breakfast but—"

"Breakfast can wait," the hobbit panted in reply. "I've gone longer without a meal for less pleasant things." Thorin growled low in his throat and it turned out that breakfast did, indeed, have to wait as it was some time before they left Bilbo's bedroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are :) I'm back and have three full weeks to write! I hope that you enjoyed this new chapter and if you feel the need to read smut, there is a new chapter for Past and Present Entwined that picks up where this left off! I hope you enjoy!


	28. Similarities, Bets and Plans

Frodo was awakened from his fitful sleep by the sound of a loud moan wafting through the house. He didn't _know_ that was what woke him, only that something had. As he sat up and looked around, his confusion only deepened. It was barely dawn and everyone else was awake as well, sitting up in their respective places with indulgent smiles on their faces.

"Did you lot wake me?" Frodo demanded, "because I can assure you that I do _not_ find being woken at dawn for no reason amusing in the least." Rather than apologize as he had expected them to, the dwarves shocked him by bursting into laughter, proving their guilt in his opinion.

"It's not funny!" he snapped.

"Lad," Dwalin said leaning forward to ruffle his hair just to irritate him, "it is, just not for the reason you think."

"Then enlighten me," Frodo said, his blue eyes narrowing dangerously as his hands came to rest on his hips. Rather than have the intimidating effect he had been hoping for, the dwarves laughter only grew stronger and Frodo could have sworn that he heard a chuckle from the wizard as well.

"Just _what_ is so amusing?" Frodo demanded, beginning to grow more than merely irritated with the lot of them.

"Let's just say this, lad," Balin finally managed to say, though he couldn't bring himself to look at the irate young hobbit as he did for fear of bursting into laughter once more, "you may not be Bilbo's but he has had more than influenced your mannerisms."

"What?" Frodo asked, his face relaxing from fury into a mask of confusion and his hands falling to his sides as he tried to make sense of the fact that they weren't actually laughing _at_ him but rather his resemblance to his uncle.

"That is almost word-for-word what your uncle said the first time we woke him at dawn,"  Bofur chortled. "And I was the one that woke him but I wasn't the only one he yelled at, was I lads?"

"No," Balin agreed. "It had to have been the funniest thing I'd ever seen in my life up until that point."

"Aye!" Dwalin agreed.

"What happened?" Frodo asked, all irritation forgotten at the prospect of hearing yet another story that Bilbo had never told him.

"Well, while your uncle was yelling at me for waking him a "such an _unreasonable_ hour," Thorin came over to see what all the fuss was about," Bofur explained. "Now, what you have to remember is that this was within the first couple of days. Thorin and you're uncle . . . well let's just say they didn't get along horribly well. In fact, I thought Thorin hated him."

"No lad," Balin corrected, "Thorin didn't hate him. He just didn't think he had any buissness being on such a dangerous quest. Told me so himself when I said that he might want to try to be nicer to the hobbit as he really was trying and wasn't doing all that poorly."

"Anyway," Bofur said, "So, Thorin came over to see why Bilbo was yelling so early in the morning. Now, you don't know him as well as we do, but Thorin is not really _sociable_ in the mornings."

"Not that he was sociable at all back then," Dwalin said. "Never knew if he was going to ignore you or snap at you."

"So," Balin said, ignoring his brother, "Thorin comes over to tell your uncle off for yelling so early and rather than apologize—which was what Thorin, and all of us, had expected—Bilbo turned on _him._ "

"And what a sight it was!" Dwalin laughed. "Such a little thing bowing right up to Thorin with his hands on his hips and laying into the king of the dwarves like he was his mother and Thorin was in need of a scolding. Seemed to think he was intimidating."

"Thorin wasn't impressed," Balin added dryly. "Just stared down at the hobbit like he had lost his mind before he told us to pack up and move out, "unreasonable hour or not"."

"He was by the end!" Bofur chimed in. "We all were. Let me tell you, lad, when your uncle got _that_ look in his eye even _Thorin_ thought twice about arguing with him and even Fíli and Kíli wouldn't prank him in one of those moods."

"Especially if he was hungry," Balin said. "It's no surprise to me that you hobbits eat so often. Probably began when one of you was foolish enough to allow himself to get hungry and realized just how fiery your tempers actually are. A rabid warg has _nothing_ on your uncle's ferocity when he's hungry."

"I _still_ say that's how we should have dealt with Smaug," Dwalin said. "We _should_ have let Bilbo miss a meal or two and then sent him through the front gate. The hobbit would have strangled the dragon with his own tail!"

"Just like Thorin nearly did you with your braids when you suggested it, Brother!" Balin said with a laugh. Dwalin merely shrugged unconcerned. He had known that Thorin wouldn't really kill him. Hadn't even really offered to do it. _That_ had been Bilbo.

"Lads, do you think we might should look into breakfast?" Bofur asked. "Bilbo didn't really eat yesterday and when they're done in there . . ." he trailed off suggestively but it wasn't as if he needed to finish the thought. The others were already in motion and heading for the pantry for breakfast stuffs.

"Why do they think that Uncle will be hungry when he comes out of his room?" Frodo asked Gandalf. "I mean, I know he _will_ be since he didn't eat yesterday but why—" Frodo cut himself off as a rather lewd moan came from his uncle's room.

"Are they?!" Frodo demanded, his face going bright red and his words choking off as he was unable to finish the thought, to disturbed by the idea of what his uncle was clearly doing behind closed doors. When Gandalf nodded with a shrug and an expression that clearly said 'what do you expect, they are a couple' all of the color drained from Frodo's face.

"Are you alright there, Frodo?" Bofur called from the stove.

"Fine." Frodo replied in a weak voice as he began to sway slightly where he sat.

"Are you sure, lad?" Dwalin asked. "Because to me you look like you're about to," Dwalin paused as another noise came from the couple's room and Frodo promptly keeled over.

"Faint," he finished with a laugh.

"So, what does that bring the total up to, lads?" Balin asked with a sigh.

"Dwalin two, Bilbo and Thorin three and one each for you and I," Bofur replied. "And none for Gandalf."

"You need to step up your game, Brother," Balin said with a laugh just as Gandalf asked, "What exactly is this 'total'?"

"We've noticed that hobbits are rather excitable things," Bofur explained.

"So you are betting on how many times you can 'excite' poor Frodo?" Gandalf asked, laughing slightly at how quickly the poor young hobbit had become the subject of a bet.

"Yes," they agreed.

"What are the stakes?" Gandalf asked shrewdly. "And what is the time limit?"

"Oh, no, Gandalf!" Dwalin said. "You're not getting in on this one. It's been going on for a few days now and we all know who you will chose to win. Last thing we need is you using your wizardly wiles to sway it in their favor any more than it already is."

"I only use my 'wizardly wiles' for much more important things that a bit of gold," Gandalf replied, in mock indignation. "And perhaps I was going to bet on myself. You do not know for sure that I would place my money on Bilbo and Thorin."

"Were you?" Balin asked.

"No," Gandalf agreed. "But your brother did not know it. So what do you say, I have a pouch of gold that says Bilbo and Thorin will win this contest. Would any of you like the chance to win it?"

"How many times do you think they'll manage it?" Bofur asked, more than willing to add Gandalf's money to the pot.

"When is the contest up?" Gandalf asked in reply.

"Their birthday," Dwalin said, sighing  in resignation.

"That is a week away," Gandalf said talking to himself as he thought. "They have already managed it three times and they are just now becoming particularly amorous since the Ring is gone . . . hm . . . I will say they can do it an even dozen times before their birthday."

"A dozen?!" Balin exclaimed. "You think they can make the lad faint a dozen times in the next week?"

"This is Bilbo and Thorin we're talking about," Bofur said with a laugh. "They traumatized _Dwalin_. They might just be able to pull it off."The others shook their heads indulgently thinking that the wizard had finally gone senile but more than willing to take his money when he was willing to make such foolish bets.

**ooOO88OOoo**

By the time that Bilbo and Thorin emerged from their room, Frodo was conscious once more—if a bit paler than usual—and the dwarves, Gandalf and Frodo had already finished with breakfast. The atmosphere grew tense as they heard Bilbo's door open. They knew that Gandalf had said the Ring was gone from Bilbo but they weren't sure what to expect from the old hobbit. Would he still be depressed? Angry? or more like himself? Their answer came when Bilbo's voice wafted down the hall to them, bright as it even had been and filled with a trace of laughter.

"I know that I smell food," Bilbo called. "And as it came from my pantry there had better be some left for us. I am _quite_ famished." When Bilbo came around the corner, hand in hand with Thorin and rather pleased looks on both of their faces, Dwalin felt it was safe to comment.

"There was food," he said. "However you've missed it. You and Thorin should know better than to plan your excursions before breakfast if you want any. There were three hungry dwarves, a hobbit and a wizard in here. There's nothing left. You'll have to go shopping before you can eat."

"What?" Bilbo laughed incredulously. "We just went what, three days ago? There should still be plenty of food. Frodo and I only go once a week!"

"Aye, but that's for two hobbit," Balin said. "Four dwarves, two hobbits and a wizard require more provisions."

"And more ale," Bofur added. "We're out of that as well."

"You're joking, aren't you?" Bilbo said. "We bought _three_ barrels of ale! How much have you lot been drinking?!"

"Bilbo, did you forget just how much dwarves like ale?" Thorin asked with a laugh. "And with such weak ale . . . We really only bought one barrel."

"Is dwarven ale really that strong?" Frodo asked. "Does it really count as three times the amount of hobbit ale?"

"Oh, Frodo  my lad, don't get them started on the merits of dwarven ale," Bilbo sighed just as Dwalin clapped him on the shoulder saying, "We'll have to let you try it for yourself, lad. Once Bilbo gives us the go ahead we'll have to return to Erebor to fetch our families at any rate, you can come along if you'd like and we'll go to a dwarven tavern and you can tell us."

"No!" Bilbo said suddenly. They all turned to him in shock, save for Thorin who had an equally horrified look on his own face at the prospect of sweet little, timid Frodo leaving the Shire and crossing both the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood.

"Beg pardon?" Dwalin said. "Just what that I said do you object to? You let the lad drink, where's the harm in giving him a real drink."

"He . . . he's not going," Bilbo breathed. "You . . . you can't take him all the way to Erebor! He's just a child!"

"I'll be an adult next week, Uncle," Frodo reminded him gently. "But don't worry. Thank you, but . . . I've heard far too much about the road to Erebor. I . . . I'd love to see it but . . ."

"It's alright, lad," Dwalin said gently. "You don't have to go. I just thought that I'd invite you in case you wanted to. The offer's still there if you change your mind." Frodo nodded and Dwalin clapped him gently on the shoulder again before directing Bilbo and Thorin to the counter, where food was waiting for them.

"There's food, right there," Dwalin said. "Though we do need another shopping trip. Me and the lads can pitch in on the bill. We are the ones eating most of it."

"No," Bilbo said grabbing the two plates that were there and bringing them back to the table. "You're my guests. I can more than afford to feed you. Don't worry about that. After all, you have ten children to feed and if they eat half as much as the three of you that can't be an easy task."

"Would one of you care to explain to me why Dwalin just said that they need to fetch their families from Erebor?" Gandalf said once the feud over Frodo leaving the Shire had calmed. The three dwarves exchanged glances before looking to Thorin to explain it to the wizard.

"Oh no!" Thorin said with a laugh as he began to eat. "The three of you came up with this plan, you get to pitch it to the wizard. I'm the one has to explain it to the Thane, after all. You can explain it to Gandalf." He didn't mention that he was still feeling a bit miffed at Gandalf and had no intention of talking to the wizard unless it was absolutely necessary and this was a time when it was not.

"We're moving here," Dwalin said with a shrug. "Us, our families and whomever of the company wants to come."

"Maybe Thorin's sister," Frodo chimed in.

"Is this what you were talking about the other night when you were discussing setting up a forge here?" Gandalf asked. "I thought you meant to build one just for Thorin, not for a dwarven settlement. Have you spoken to _anyone_ about this?"

"Bilbo agreed," Bofur said with a shrug of his own.

"No I very well did not!" Bilbo said with a laugh. "I told you it was an insane idea and that the hobbits would never allow it and that you were all mad."

"Did you tell them they couldn't?" the wizard asked, pleased to see just how well Bilbo had bounced back from his stint of Ring possession. He just hoped this would last.

"No," Bilbo said. "I told them not to plan anything concrete until after my birthday and to not get too attached to the idea until we spoke with Paladin but it's not my place to tell them no. Not like it would do any good anyway. You know as well as I do the bane that is the stubbornness of the dwarves."

"That I do," Gandalf said with a sigh to the general outcry of the dwarves. But it was all in fun, they knew that their race was a stubborn one, though they preferred the term "tenacious."

"You don't always think my stubbornness is a bane," Thorin whispered nipping Bilbo's ear.

"I do so," Bilbo replied. "I would much prefer a pliant lover who I could command than one who . . . there are no words to describe you, Thorin. None whatsoever."

"None polite, you mean," Thorin replied pulling Bilbo's head against his shoulder and resting his cheek on the hobbit's head, allowing his eyes to drift shut. His friends were laughing, Bilbo was happy and sane, Frodo wanted to remain in the Shire and they were all alive and well. The situation was not perfect, but he truly could ask for no more. With such contentment around him, and his stomach full, the lack of sleep the night before began to catch up to the dwarf and before he knew it—and without the conscious decision to do so—he was napping propped against Bilbo sitting up at the kitchen table.

 


	29. Cowardly Dwarves and Unanswered Questions

Bilbo sat there, just enjoying this proximity to Thorin even as the dwarf began to put more of his weight on the hobbit than he was accustomed to. He tried to pull away as it became uncomfortable, but Thorin merely shifted as he did.

"Thorin," Bilbo said quickly thinking of an excuse so he didn't have to tell his lover that he was crowding him. "I'd . . . I'd like to get some tea, if you don't mind." There was no reply from the dwarf in question, though the rest of them and Frodo were beginning snigger and even Gandalf had a smile on his face. Bilbo glanced at them before he tried to look up at the very large and very heavy dwarf that was currently squishing him.

"He's asleep, isn't he?" Bilbo sighed looking at the others. A quiet snore from Thorin was answer enough. Bilbo sighed. Of _course_ Thorin would think it was a good idea to stay up all night and then fall asleep at the breakfast table using Bilbo as a prop.

"I don't suppose any of you want to help me get him off, do you?" Bilbo asked wincing as the words left his mouth and he realized how they were likely to be taken. But no one rose to the bait. As normally as Bilbo was behaving that day, they had no desire to test him just yet. But they also had no desire to disturb a sleeping Thorin.

"Afraid we can't," Bofur said with a shrug. To which the other dwarves and Gandalf nodded.

"Can't or won't?" Bilbo muttered.

"Won't," Dwalin replied. "You know what he's like if you wake him. I want no part of that."

"So you expect me to just sit here until he decides to wake back up?" Bilbo demanded, more than a bit miffed with them. They were overreacting. Yes, Thorin could be a bit cantankerous if you woke him, but he wouldn't wake in shifting him off Bilbo and onto the table.

"Aye," Balin said pressing a cup into his hand. "Here's that tea you wanted." Bilbo glared at him from under Thorin and turned to his nephew.

"Frodo, be a good lad and fetch a pillow from the couch," Bilbo ordered.

"Wouldn't one from your bed—"

"The couch, Frodo, my lad," Bilbo cut him off, quite mindful of the fact that his room still wasn't straightened up from their romp earlier. Last thing he needed to do was traumatize poor Frodo. Now that they had the luxury of closed doors what happened behind them should stay behind them. The younger hobbit gave his uncle an odd look but nodded and came back with a couple of pillows.

"Good," Bilbo praised. "Now move that plate and put them on the table."

"You're going to make him sleep here?" Frodo asked, surprised that Bilbo would do that. For years he had said that the table was not an appropriate place to sleep, save if one fell asleep writing and even then it was a poor substitute for a proper bed.

"Yes," the old hobbit said with a laugh."He's the one that chose to fall asleep at the table, he can just sleep here. Besides, he's quite heavy and I don't fancy trying to haul him to bed. Maybe waking up with a crick in his back will teach him to sleep when a bed presents itself."

"Thorin's slept worse places than your kitchen table," Balin said, laughter in his own voice at Frodo's troubled look at his uncle's callous behavior towards the dwarf Bilbo claimed to love. "I doubt this will trouble him overmuch."

Bilbo nodded a sad half-smile on his face at the reminder of what Thorin had endured in his lifetime. "Are you sure that none of you will help me?" he asked. They all shook their heads. "Alright then. Frodo, this may be a bit of work, lad, but I want you to lean him back a bit and support his weight until I can scramble out from under here and help you lay him down."

"Uncle," Frodo said warily, "why won't they help?"

"Because they're cowardly scoundrels who take far too much amusement in my suffering," Bilbo deadpanned ignoring their protests at being called cowardly. "Trust me, Frodo,  Thorin is _mostly_ harmless. And he's unarmed. You'll be fine." Frodo seemed unconvinced but did as he was told and leaned the sleeping dwarf backwards against him surprised at just how heavy he actually was. It took Bilbo only a moment to come to his aid and together the two of them leaned Thorin forward onto the pillows, where the dwarf let out a small moan and nuzzled them a bit before slipping back into a deeper sleep.

"See," Bilbo said clapping Frodo on the shoulder warmly. "Easy." Frodo disagreed with his uncle's assessment of the situation and wondered what Bilbo would call "difficult" but said nothing and merely shook his head with an indulgent smile on his face.

**ooOO88OOoo**

It took a bit of quiet debate before they decided that it was a nice enough day that they would move their planning sessions to the garden to allow Thorin to nap in peace. There were only a handful more details to iron out before presenting the plan to Bilbo's cousin, Paladin for approval.

"Tell us the truth now, lad," Balin said looking at Bilbo levelly where the hobbit sat on his front step, "what are the odds of your Thane giving us leave to stay here?" Bilbo sighed and took a long drag on his pipe before he answered.

"I don't know," he finally said. Dwalin snorted that it had taken the hobbit _that_ long to come up with an answer. "It's unprecedented. No one has ever asked to start a foreign settlement in the Shire. And you do have to remember that you are sending _Thorin_ as your spokesman." There was true laughter this time.

"Laugh all you want," Bilbo replied pointing at them with the stem of his pipe while Frodo looked on with wide horrified blue eyes. "I don't see how you _ever_ planned to get through any negotiations. I love Thorin, I do but . . . he's not exactly _diplomatic_. Unless you dwarves go about diplomacy differently than hobbits. Why I could just see it now! Thorin in the middle of a negotiation suddenly shooting to his feet and grabbing some dignitary by the collar only to drag him outside and challenge him to a duel to settle the debate."

"Thorin's a mite better at diplomacy than you give him credit for," Balin said with a smirk that Bilbo didn't like in the least.  "He was king for more than a hundred years and only led us into one major battle. He managed to keep us out of the rest. I think you're being a bit unfair, lad."

"If anyone talked you out of war, we both know that it was you," Bilbo scoffed. "Thorin's temper and pride would never have allowed him to engage in the flattery necessary to prevent war. I mean, he was even snippy with Lord Elrond who was doing nothing by being nice. If there was an argument you and I both know that Thorin would have taken it personally and it would have ended in violence."

"Like this will?" Thorin's voice asked. Bilbo turned only to find that his lover was done with his nap and was leaning against the door with a sardonic smirk on his face and humor in his voice. "I'm wounded. Is that truly what you think of me, Bilbo? Do you really think so little of my self control that you believe I would assault visiting dignitary over a debate?"

"If they were elvish," Bilbo replied with a smirk of his own. Thorin grimaced a moment before his smirk returned.

"I would never," he said simply with a resolute nod.

"You wouldn't even be _tempted_ to drag Thranduil from the chambers and trounce him?" Bilbo asked coyly. He knew the answer even before he asked it; not only would Thorin be tempted, he would do it and relish in it.

"No," Thorin said, his voice showing the strain he was under to keep a straight face at the mental image of dragging that _pompous_ elf out to the training yards and . . . he cut himself off before that thought could go any further and reveal his lie to Bilbo. It was unnecessary, Thorin could have indulged had he wanted to.

"You can try to lie to whomever you want, Thorin," Bilbo said with a laugh, standing to wrap himself around the dwarf, sighing contentedly when Thorin's arms wrapped around him as well. "But you can't lie to me," Bilbo continued, brushing his lips against the sensitive flesh of the dwarf's wrist. "I saw that twitch. I know that you would like nothing more."

"Can you blame me?" Thorin asked, his blue eyes pleading with Bilbo to say that he could not blame him for wanting to thrash the elf that had abandoned them so long ago and impeded their quest.

"No," Bilbo said honestly. "I might even enjoy watching that."

"You still surprise me," Thorin whispered as he leaned down to kiss the hobbit only to be stopped by a stuttered protest from the direction of the gate. Thorin pulled back—ignoring the frustrated groan from Bilbo—to see two hobbits, and adult male and a boy standing at the gate with shocked expressions.

"M-m-mr. Bilbo?" the elder of the two asked.

"Yes, Hamfast," Bilbo said, masking his irritation at having been interrupted well enough that only Thorin heard it, "what can I do for you?"

"I didn't mean to interrupt, sir," Hamfast said quickly. "I . . . I was just c-coming to tell you th-that I would take care of the garden now if you didn't mind clearing . . . never mind. I can come back later. I can see that you are quite busy _entertaining_."

"No, Hamfast," Bilbo sighed. "We need to go to the market anyway. This lot is trying to eat me out of house and home."

"We _did_ offer to pay," Bofur countered only to be shushed by Bilbo.

"We'll go do that and you can have the free run of the garden," Bilbo continued. "Come on you lot. As much as I know I'm going to regret this I can't in good conscience leave you here to traumatize young Samwise as you seem so intent on traumatizing Frodo."

" _We_ don't traumatize the lad," Dwalin muttered only to get a glare from the rest of the dwarves and Gandalf for interfering. If Thorin and Bilbo knew the effect they had on the lad they might tone it down and then Dwalin would have an unfair advantage. At their glares he sighed before climbing to his feet and heading for the gate, offering the two hobbits a small smile in an attempt to look less intimidating as Hamfast backed across the road and the smaller hobbit peaked out behind his father with wide brown eyes. He was followed by Bofur who just so happened to have a small toy on his person that he had made one night while he was bored and knelt to offer it to the hobbit. Samwise looked up at his father before creeping out a bit and moving closer to the strange dwarf.

"Go on," Bofur said gently. "It's a gift. Have it." Sam looked at his father once more and when Hamfast nodded reached out and cautiously took it.

"Thank you," the boy whispered, looking up at Bofur through his curly bangs. The dwarf smiled and ruffled his hair before setting off down the lane into town.

"That's cheating," Dwalin said once he was in earshot.

"No," Bofur disagreed. "I merely gave a toy to a child. Nothing wrong with that."

"Just remember that children don't count," Dwalin said with a smirk.

"Don't count for what?" Bilbo asked joining them. The two dwarves shared sheepish glances. Betting on Bilbo's people was one thing, Bilbo knowing about it was another. "Are neither of you going to tell me?"

"They're betting on which of them can make more hobbit friends in a year, Uncle," Frodo explained. Bilbo snorted and shook his head before asking, "Is this an open wager?" Bilbo saw no reason to stop them. They weren't hurting the hobbits and if they were trying to make friends perhaps that would help rein in their behavior.

"Aye," Dwalin said warily. "Just know that if you enter you can't attempt to sway the hobbits one way or the other."

"I don't need to sway them," Bilbo said with a shrug. "Bofur's going to win and ten gold pieces say so."

"I always knew you were a smart one!" Bofur crowed throwing an arm around Bilbo and looking at Dwalin smugly. "He sees genius when it's present."

"No," Bilbo corrected dancing out from under Bofur's arm and patting Dwalin's affectionately. "I just know that Dwalin here looks a bit intimidating until you get to know him. They won't have time to do that in a year or he would win. Underneath that gruff exterior is a fluffy bunny of a dwarf." Dwalin sputtered indignantly for a moment while the rest nearly collapsed with laughter.

"A . . . A **_BUNNY_** _!"_ Dwalin roared once he was able. "I assure you, Bilbo Baggins that I am no fluffy bunny. If you'd like I can prove it to you. We can turn right around and you can get your letter-opener and me an axe—I'll take mercy on you and only use the one—and you and I can see which of us is the fluffy bunny. If I recall, that _was_ once a title of yours. Was it not, Master Bunny?"

"Why I. . . I thought we agreed never to speak on that again," Bilbo finally managed. "Wasn't that the price for me freeing all of you from prison?"

"What are you going to do, Bilbo?" Dwalin said with a smirk. "It's not like you can _ask_ Thranduil to put me back in. He'd never do it. Relations are too good between him and Erebor for him to risk jailing one of the nobles."

"Did you forget about me?" Thorin asked with a laugh as he clapped Dwalin on the shoulder. "If you do attack my mate I _will_ talk to Dís about a momentary imprisonment for you. She'd might be more than willing to do it. I seem to remember an incident involving the two of you that had her begging me to jail you. Something about . . . what was it. Oh, I remember. You _accidently_ lit her braid on fire at a dinner. She wanted your head, you know. Claimed you were a bad influence on her lads. She blamed all of their pranking on you."

"Not you?" Dwalin asked elbowing his old friend harder than Bilbo thought was strictly necessary. But Thorin didn't seem to mind and only returned the elbow with one of his own as he released Dwalin.

"Never," Throin replied with a smirk. "She never caught _me_ teaching them bad behavior."

"Which is not to say you _didn't_ ," Bilbo said reading between the lines. "If we do get a child only the Valar will save you if you do the same. So help me, Thorin Oakenshield, if you create _another_ menace I . . ."

"You'll do nothing and we both know it," Thorin said cupping his face gently. "Don't threaten things you don't intend to do,  âzyungâl."

"That's enough you two!" Balin said swatting them both, Thorin a bit more forcefully than Bilbo. "We're _shopping_. Last thing we need is the two of you getting us kicked out of the market for lewd behavior. Behave yourselves!" The irony of _Balin_ being the one to remind him of propriety caused Bilbo to dissolve into laughter once more and he was wiping tears from his eyes as he threaded his arm through Thorin's and walked into Hobbiton.

The rest of them followed behind, shaking their heads with confused expressions on their faces as they wondered just what Bilbo had meant by talking about them getting a child.


	30. The Market Again and Games

That trip to the market was much less catastrophic than the last one had been. The dwarves behaved themselves, Bilbo's temper never flared and they bough enough food to feed a small army for a short siege—as Dwalin put it. Bilbo had rolled his eyes but said nothing. He knew that for one thing they didn't have enough ale to last out a siege and he remembered jut how cranky dwarves got without their ale. But it wasn't as if it was really an issue, they weren't planning on enduring a siege in Bag End.

They had just gotten back to the house and begun putting things in their proper place—Hamfast and Samwise carefully not making eye contact as they continued to tend the garden—when the clock on the mantel chimed noon. Bilbo let out a frustrated sigh at the sound. He hadn't realized it had gotten so late.

"Tom'll just have to deal with you being late," Bilbo said turning to glare at Thorin as he made their way to their bedroom—presumably to change into something to work in. "You're not going without lunch and we still have to cook it."

"No he won't," Thorin countered with a smirk, not bothering to turn around.

"Now you listen to me, Thorin Oakenshield," Bilbo snapped pushing the food in his hands into Balin's arms before stalking across the room and grabbing Thorin to turn the dwarf to face him, "you are not leaving this house without a proper meal in you. Not if you intend to go and sweat and . . . and. . . " Bilbo trailed off, his eyes clouding over with lust at the memory of Thorin working before he shook himself. "You're not going."

"No," Thorin replied, a small smile in place since he knew that his next words would take Bilbo by surprise. "I'm not going."

"No, you're not and I don't care . . . excuse me," the hobbit asked blinking up at him. "Did you just say you're _not_ going." When Thorin nodded Bilbo let out an exasperated huff. "The _one_ day I didn't go with you. _One_ day, Thorin! What in all of Middle Earth did you do to get him to fire you. Last time I went with you I thought he was about ready to kiss your—"

"I'm not fired," Thorin cut off what was sure to be something graphic, what with Bilbo's newly expanded vocabulary since his death. "I have the day off. I managed to channel my _frustrations_ with you into my work and was, in his words, "more than productive." The forge isn't even open today."

"In that case, after lunch the two of you can go see the Thane," Balin said with a smirk.

"But . . ." Bilbo scrambled for an excuse and came up blank.

"But what?" Dwalin asked chiming in with his brother. "The party's planned. You said so this morning."

"And we have all of our planning done," Bofur said with a grin that Bilbo didn't like at all. "Why not."

"You . . . you have to . . . to schedule these things!" Bilbo said suddenly looking mightily pleased with himself. The others looked at him in exasperation. They could tell that he was lying.

"Do we look like trolls, Bilbo?" Bofur asked before raising a hand and shooting Thorin a look. "Not a word," he said winking at his ex-king to show he meant no harm. Thorin laughed and shrugged.

"I have no objections to going to the Thane today," Thorin offered, placing a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "The worst thing that can happen is he says yes."

"You mean that he says, 'no,' don't you?" Balin asked shrewdly. Thorin simply looked at him with a look that clearly said, 'I said what I meant' but did not bother to dignify that question with a response.

**ooOO88OOoo**

After lunch was eaten, the dishes washed and everything in order once more, Bilbo was _still_ trying to find an excuse to avoid visiting Paladin. It was not a meeting that he had any desire to attend. He knew—even if he had claimed not to—that the odds of Paladin agreeing to allow the dwarves their settlement were not good. And, if he was honest with himself, he wasn't entirely sure that it was a bad thing.

Ever since he had returned from his adventures—though he had made no attempt to cover up where he had been—he had tried to keep his two lives separate. For a time it was because the loss of Thorin and the lads was still too close. Even with the loss of his respectability and the scorn of his neighbors, it had been easier to be known as "Mad Baggins" than to be Bilbo, widower of Thorin Oakenshield and ex-burglar of the company.

Not that he had objected when the members of the company came to visit over the years. He didn't. For a time, he _lived_ for their visits. They were the times that he felt the most _whole_ , the most accepted. They knew _everything_ that had happened and still they loved him enough to visit and to bring him requested items from Erebor when they did without questioning why he wanted them, though their knowing smiles were a bit hard to endure at times. His own people had known less than half of the truth and they had already decided that he was "Mad." If they'd know all . . . he had no idea what they would have decided to call him, or if they would have run him out all together.

That was one of the reasons he was always secretly glad when the dwarves left without spending time in Hobbiton: he feared what they could allow to slip. The other reason was that he knew if they ever found out about what the others called him there would be bloodshed. And following the bloodshed, he would be drug back to Erebor in a sack when he refused to go willingly.

He had even imagined their justifications for their kidnapping of him:

_"It's for your own good, lad," Dwalin would have said. "But bite me again and lose your teeth." They would both know that the threat was an idle one._

_"They don't appreciate you like we do," Bofur would add. "It's best if you just come with us, Bilbo." And when he continued to protest, Balin, ever the voice of reason, would chime in with the one argument Bilbo could **never** counter._

_"It would pain him to see you treated this was, laddie," he would say. "Come with us. Let us honor you the way **he** would have, had he lived."_

He knew that had they known the truth, they never would have let him be. Nor would they have ever been able to understand why he willingly stayed and endured the distrust of his neighbors. They couldn't understand that the reason he could never live in Erebor was because the only life he had imagined for himself there involved Thorin. Even as a cautiously accepted resident, the Shire was the easier place for him to live. Not once had he imagined Thorin in the Shire. He had never been able to see Thorin living a life of leisure and peace, nor had he been able to see Thorin being happy without a kingdom to oversee or a grand goal to accomplish.

He'd been wrong. He had to smile at the contented image his mate presented as he sat in the afternoon sunlight in a soft undershirt smoking a pipe and showing Frodo a dwarven strategy game that had been a favorite of his growing up. There had never been time for Bilbo to learn it, but he had heard enough about it to recognize the game when he saw it. As he watched, Thorin patiently returned Frodo's game piece to the space it had occupied moments before.

"That's not a move that's allowed, Lad," Thorin said gently. "Try again." Bilbo watched as Frodo studied the board for a moment, a look of intense concentration on his face before he moved a different piece. The second he placed it, Balin practically crowed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I could _kiss_ you!" the white-haired dwarf declared before turning to Dwalin with his hand extended. "Pay up, Brother." Dwalin dug into his pocket with a grumble as Thorin continued to study the game board before looking up at Frodo with a small smile and a congratulatory nod.

"I . . . I won?" Frodo asked, looking again, not having seen what the dwarves had seen and wondering just how he had won. This game still made no sense to him, despite them having played a few times. There seemed to be no real pattern to how victory was achieved.

"You did," Thorin said gravely. "Congratulations."

"How?" Frodo asked. "I . . . I don't see how I won." Bilbo moved to lean on Thorin, his arms wrapped around the dwarf's chest, as he explained to Frodo just how victory had been achieved.

"Don't worry, my lad," Bilbo said once he was done and it was clear that Frodo still didn't quite understand. "I don't see how there is a victory there either. This game makes no sense to me. I think you have to be a dwarf to understand it."

"Nonsense," Gandalf said, leaning over Frodo and tracing invisible lines with the stem of his pipe. "I am no dwarf and I can explain it to you. This game is simple. Each piece plays its part and has its own strengths and weaknesses. It is all about strategy and moving each piece into the position in which its strengths can be utilized and its weaknesses protected against."

"Well, as I am neither a dwarf nor a wizard and have no need for such machinations," Bilbo began with a smirk, "forgive me for not seeing these lines of strength and weakness." Thorin couldn't help but feel that Bilbo was right. Gandalf was far too good at "utilizing" pieces for his peace of mind. He still couldn't help but feel that the old wizard was not yet done "utilizing" him and his mate, though he did hope that he was wrong.

"Now that Thorin has been beaten," Balin said leveling a glare at Bilbo and Thorin, "are the two of you _ever_ going to go and see the Thane?"

"Well . .. " Bilbo said glancing at the clock, "It's nearly time for afternoon tea. Paladin won't appreciate us interrupting that."

"Nonsense!" Gandalf countered, a glint creeping  into his blue eyes ad Bilbo huffed indignantly and shot him an exasperated look. "Paladin will welcome you. Might even feed you. Hobbits do tend to be rather hospitable creatures, after all."

"Most of the time," Dwalin muttered, recalling the shock and air of stuffiness Bilbo had given off all those years ago.

"When we're not dropped in on unexpectedly by thirteen ravenous and rambunctious dwarves and a meddling wizard, we are quite social," Bilbo said with a mock glare.

"Good," Bofur said clapping the hobbit on the shoulder. "In that case, there's no reason you can't go. There are only two of you, after all." Thorin laughed as Bilbo opened and closed his mouth a few times as he realized that he had just tied the rope to hang himself with his own hands—or tongue.

"Come," Thorin said rising to his feet and offering Bilbo a hand. "The sooner we leave, the quicker he can say 'no' and we can come home. I would very much like to test that mind of yours. See if you're smarter than Frodo here." Bilbo sighed and shook his head but allowed Thorin to lead him out the door and down the road into Hobbiton. As they left, he could see no way that this conversation could end well.

**ooOO88OOoo**

As usual, it took them a bit of time to get through the market, though it was beginning to take less time as the novelty of the situation wore off and the market hobbits ran out of questions they wanted answered in favor of speculating about the truth of the matter. As the novelty wore off, so did a bit of their tolerance for the situation and they began to wonder just how long Bilbo intended to keep the strangely polite dwarf in the Shire and if he would be the only one staying, as there were at least three more of them holed up in Bag End.

Some of the more logical among them knew that Thorin was going nowhere even when the others left. He would be there for the rest of his days, or at least Bilbo's and they had long since stopped expecting the ancient hobbit to drop dead. There was even speculation that he had made some deal with that wandering wizard that would keep him alive and young forever. They knew that even if the wizard wasn't involved,  there had to be some queer magic involved. No one lived unchanged for so long. And from what they had guessed, the dwarf knew the wizard as well. It was possible that the both of them had been magicked and would never die. But if that was the case, at least they were both harmless enough. And the dwarf _was_ the best smith Hobbiton had ever seen.

As it did every time the two of them came to town together, radiating love as they did, whispers reemerged about a possible Baggins wedding, perhaps soon and in the spring at the latest. These whispers were only augmented when Bilbo and his dwarf disappeared into the office of the Thane. A wedding was the only reason the hobbits in the market could see for them to be going in, and, strange or not, they could find no fault in it. After all, Bagginses _did_ throw the best parties, but then again they could expect no less with the wealth that Bilbo still reportedly had stored in the hill. Yes, for a Baggins party they would be more than willing to celebrate such a wedding. It wasn't as if Bilbo could make himself any stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this took so long! RL has hit a couple of snags lately and school's been . . . well, there's no polite word for that so I'll leave it at that. I hope that this chapter was worth the wait and will do my best to ensure that such a wait does not occur again.
> 
> Stickdonkeys


	31. In the Office of the Thane

The first thought that Thorin had upon entering the office of the Thane was that it wasn't at all what he had expected. Every office of every dignitary that he had ever entered had had some form of security. Even his own in Ered Luin had always had at least one guard of some form in there. True, in his case it had often been Balin or Dwalin who were also there in an advisory capacity and to relieve boredom if no one happened to come—and to help him rein in his temper if someone was being particularly trying—but they were still there and still armed.

He was surprised to see no one more than a single hobbit lass sitting at the desk. She had looked up when the door opened, and smiled, even managing to reach her eyes. Thorin had to admit that he was impressed. It wasn't often that one got a true smile from a stranger and he found himself offering her a small smile in return. She swallowed when she took him in and her smile faltered a bit but she caught it quickly enough and turned back to Bilbo.

"Hello, Mr. Bilbo," she said warmly. "We hardly ever see you here. What can we do for you today?"

"Hello Prim," Bilbo replied. "I'm here to see Paladin. Can we just go in?" She shook her head.

"I'm afraid not," she apologized. "He's with someone else at the moment. If it's just another permit for your party that you're needing, I can do it for you so that you don't have to wait."

"I'm afraid it's nothing that simple, my dear," Bilbo said with a sigh. "We'll just have to wait." Primrose nodded sadly and gestured to the comfortable chairs off to one side.

"Just make yourselves comfortable then, Mr. Bilbo, Master Dwarf," she instructed. "I'll come get you as soon as the Thane can see you. If you're hungry, there's food and tea on the table. Help yourselves. It's not much, just sandwiches and cookies, I'm afraid but it'll make a decent afternoon tea for you."

"Thank you, Prim" Bilbo replied offering her a nod before turning to Thorin and taking his hand to lead him to the small table and chairs.

"What's the matter?" the hobbit asked once they were seated, noticing Thorin looking around the room uneasily. The dwarf said nothing for a moment but continued his assessment, his brow growing more furrowed by the moment.

"Thorin," Bilbo whispered, placing a hand on his lover's arm to get his attention. Once he had it, he continued, "We don't have to do this, you know? We can walk right out that door, go home and tell them he was busy. It's the truth. We wouldn't be lying."

"It's not that," Thorin replied. "It's just . . . are the guards _inside_?"

"What guards?" Bilbo asked, trying to make sense of his lover. "There are no guards, Thorin. Nothing's going to happen."

"But what if someone dislikes what they hear?" Thorin demanded. "They didn't even search us for weapons. What if someone was angry at a decision the Thane made in their case? Can the lass defend herself? Does she have a dagger hidden in her skirts? Or under the desk perhaps?" Bilbo sighed as Thorin's words sank in. He'd forgotten for a moment what this must feel like for the ex-king—for someone that had taken part in hostile negotiations for most of his life. Negotiations that very well might end in bloodshed.

"Nothing like that happens here, Thorin," Bilbo promised. "Nearly everyone in Hobbiton is related in some way. We tend to settle disputes through family channels, verbal spats and gossip chains. And very rarely does it result in violence. And the most that comes from _that_ is a bruised eye. Most hobbits can't fight, not even really in a pinch. Oh, they may brawl as lads and lasses but nothing ever comes of it, we don't train to face battle. No one will pull a weapon, not one made of metal at any rate. There's no need for guards or searches. Not here."

His words did not have the reassuring effect that Bilbo had hoped for. If anything, they seemed to make Thorin even more melancholy as he wondered again if bringing dwarves to the Shire was a good idea. True, it would make him and his company happy, but was it truly _best_ for the hobbits themselves? From what he had seen of them, they were a trusting, naive people. They were honest and expected honesty in return. Dwarves themselves were rarely cheats or liars, but they were shrewd and the Men that they would invariably attract . . . Men were cruel. And hobbits . . . they were so small and defenseless. They didn't even think to build walls, gates or even _check_ for weapons.

"This is a mistake," he said suddenly, looking at Bilbo sadly. "Moving dwarves to the Shire. It would expose your people to needless danger. I would hate to be responsible for such a thing. I would hate to be the one to bring deceit and distrust to such a simple, peaceful place. I do not know that I can ask your Thane to allow it."

Bilbo only laughed. "We're not nearly as innocent as you believe, Thorin," he said once he was able. "Hobbits are not all good. They lie and cheat just like any other race. We have our greedy individuals. And for all our simplicity, there's intelligence and fire there. Most of them just aren't aware of it. Look at me and even young Frodo. Who would have ever believed I was capable of half of the things I have done. I can promise you that if you had told me that I would eat with a giant skin-changer, fly with eagles, ride barrels down a _river_ , riddle with a dragon or become the lover of a king at dinner sixty years ago I would have said you were mad!"

He paused and leaned forward to place a gentle hand on Thorin's cheek. "You once misjudged me," he whispered, staring into his dwarf's haunted blue eyes, "don't make the same mistake twice.  A dwarven settlement may be just what Hobbiton needs to liven things up a bit." Thorin still looked as though he was unconvinced so Bilbo continued.

"Besides," he said, "all you are doing is asking. Paladin can always say no. Just make sure that he knows what he's agreeing to if he agrees and you don't have to worry about what comes of it." Thorin merely sighed. Bilbo could say that in the end it was Paladin's decision all that he wanted but even if Thorin laid it all out, could the hobbit _truly_ understand what he might be opening his people to? Could he truly live with himself if he brought _Men_ to the Shire and it went poorly for the hobbits?

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin was still thinking about this some time later when the door to Paladin's office opened and a young hobbit lass and what were clearly her parents walked out, thanking the Thane for his help. The girl did not say a word and looked resolutely at the floor even as her mother took her arm and led her out the main door and into the market.

Paladin watched them go with a sad shake of his head. When the door closed, he turned to Primrose only to notice Bilbo and Thorin behind her. A smile immediately came to his face at the sight of his cousin. For all Bilbo's strangeness, Paladin couldn't help but be fond of the old hobbit for proving old-wives tales wrong. He'd always been told as a lad that bad blood will out, but despite Bilbo being half-Baggins, their stuffiness had had no effect on him—though Paladin had heard that Bilbo was quite stuffy in his youth he had trouble believing it—clearly the Took side of him was stronger that the Baggins.

"Bilbo!" Paladin cried making his way across the room to embrace his cousin. "What brings you here?"

"We came to see you," Bilbo said, his tone showing that he thought it should have been obvious though the twinkle in his eyes showed that he didn't mind the foolish question.

"Me in particular, or did you just need something?" Paladin asked with a laugh.

"We needed something," Bilbo admitted with a shrug.

"I thought as much," the Thane replied with a smile. "In that case, come in. And may I assume that this is the infamous Thorin Oakenshield that I have been hearing so much about?" Paladin continued turning to the dwarf as he stood.

"Indeed," Thorin replied offering the hobbit a bow. "Clearly Bilbo's manners have waned over the years as he no longer sees fit to introduce others. Thorin Oakenshield, at your service."

"Paladin Took, at yours and your families," Paladin replied returning the bow with a smirk at Bilbo's exasperated huff and at the old hobbit mumbling under his breath about "insufferable egotistical dwarves."

He led them into his office and shut the door behind them. "Sit," he offered gesturing to the chairs on one side of the desk before moving to the other. Once he had he took a moment to survey the strange pair across his desk trying to figure out just why they were there. After a moment, he spoke.

"So," Paladin asked, "what can I do for the two of you?" Thorin sighed and looked at Bilbo for a moment, either seeking reassurance or disapproval before he spoke. If the hobbit was truly against the plan, he was prepared to let it go.

"Oh no!" Bilbo said misunderstanding what Thorin wanted. "I said that I would get you through the door but that _you_ had to ask him. It was your idea after all."

"It was _not_ _my_ idea!" Thorin countered.

"It wasn't mine either," Bilbo laughed. "I'm not even sure that it's a _good_ idea."

"Neither am I," the dwarf admitted. "There are serious issues, both logistical and ethical, that must be considered."

"If you tell me what the idea is, perhaps I could help with the issues?" Paladin offered gently. This wasn't the first marital squabble he'd seen in that office, though it did have the potential to end more violently than any that he had seen before.

"Perhaps you can," Thorin replied, turning away from his mate to look at the other hobbit with an unreadable expression on his face. There was only a brief pause before Thorin began speaking, explaining his request and the area he would like to have to form the settlement.

 Paladin's politely curious expression quickly melted into one of shock as the dwarf continued to talk, Bilbo occasionally chiming in when he felt that Thorin had forgotten something important. The Thane couldn't believe what he was hearing! They wanted to move _dwarves_ into the Shire?! His head was already spinning at the idea, but then the dwarf began discussing "fair compensation" for the land he was requesting and Paladin had to stop him.

"Wait just a moment," the younger hobbit said somewhat breathlessly. "Let me understand what it is that you are asking. You want me to assist you in purchasing land on which you wish to build a _dwarven_ settlement. Is that what you asked?"

"It is," Thorin replied.

"And you intend to bring _how_ many dwarves?" Paladin breathed, feeling slightly faint.

"Upwards of twenty," Bilbo said gently, feeling worried about his cousin. Paladin was a shocking shade of pale green. "Most of them children."

"Children," Paladin repeated nodding. "And . . . May I just ask _why?_ "

"I will be remaining with Bilbo," Thorin said simply, his tone making it clear that he was not asking permission in this case. "My kin have missed me and "their hobbit"," Thorin ignored Bilbo's mutterings about what he would do to a mess of possessive dwarves when he returned home and continued. "They wish to move nearer to us. The trip from Erebor is . . . well, it is still rather perilous and long. Such a trip inhibits their ability to visit frequently. Instead, they would like to move their families here."

Paladin merely nodded, still trying to process what he was being told but Thorin's words making some element of sense. Kin was something that hobbits understood well—with the vast majority of them being related somehow—and he could see why they would want to move closer to keep Thorin company. He could not imagine being forced to choose between being the lone hobbit among another race or being away from his dear wife. It was that thought that made him feel more inclined to grant this strange request but there were still things that needed to be addressed before he could truly consider it.

"What do you propose we do about the complications you mentioned?" Paladin asked. "The Shire is a quiet, peaceful place. The rest of the world is not, though I am sure that you are more aware of the fact than I. Dwarves are bound to bring trade with them; how do you propose to keep such trade from disrupting our way of life?"

"We build separate roads to our settlement," Thorin said. This very question had been haunting him as he waited for this audience and the answer had come to him. "Here, and here," he said pointing to places on the map both to the east and west of the Shire proper and place a guard there to ensure that Men do not come here."

"That is unnecessary," Paladin said shaking his head at just how far the dwarf was willing to go to protect the hobbit's way of life. It assuaged his fears, as Thorin Oakenshield was clearly the head of his kin. If he was so determined, his kin would surely follow his lead. The dwarf looked prepared to protest but waited when Paladin held up his hand with a small smile.

"We are already along the Great East-West Road," the Thane explained. "Though it is rare, we do get outsiders coming through from time to time."

"Yes, however, I fear that our presence will increase the frequency of outsiders," Thorin sighed.

"We will adapt," Paladin promised. "Though I might take you up on your offer for a guard of sorts. We do have peace-keepers, if you wish to call them that, however more often than not they are the mothers of the offending parties. If you are willing to offer some of your dwarves to help control the outsiders then I am willing to allow your settlement."

"That is more than fair," Thorin agreed. "And most of the dwarves that are coming would be more than willing to agree to such a thing."

"Dwalin will like it in particular," Bilbo said with a smile. "After all, he's spent the last—what?—hundred years of his life doing just that?"

"Something like that," Thorin replied with a smirk.

" _Hundred_ years?" Paladin asked, paling again as he realized that if they lived forever, and bred like hobbits then those twenty dwarves would rapidly outnumber the hobbits of the Shire. "Just how long do dwarves live?"

"They're not immortal, Cousin," Bilbo promised seeing what had troubled Paladin. "They live a little over twice as long as we do. Not forever. And they do not have nearly as many children as we do."

"Most of the time," Thorin muttered, thinking of Dwalin's ridiculous number of progeny. Bilbo shushed him and went back to trying to comfort his cousin, who was looking much better. Paladin still looked a bit shell-shocked but he was no longer the color of death.

"So," the Thane said taking a deep breath, "shall we draw up the paperwork?" Thorin nodded and together they began to draw up the terms, location, and payment due for the settlement to progress. Bilbo sat back silently and wondered if it would be _terribly_ rude of him to take a nap as he was clearly not needed for this stage of the proceedings.  


	32. A Request and Righteous Anger

In the end, Bilbo _did_ end up falling asleep in his chair, earning a fond smile from the two bent over the desk before they returned to their work. There were many things that still needed to be negotiated before the agreement could be signed but both sides were amenable and compromises were soon reached. After much less time than Thorin thought such a thing would take, they were finished.

They each read over it once more before making a copy of the document. After ensuring that both copies were identically worded, both Thorin and Paladin signed them. One going into Paladin's desk and the other into Thorin's coat.

"I rarely say this," Thorin said, "however it has been a pleasure doing business with you, Thane Paladin."

"Just Paladin," the hobbit corrected. "Titles just make for more words in a conversation. Elsewise I should have been calling you 'Your Majesty' if the rumors are to be believed."

"Thorin will suffice," the dwarf said with a laugh.

"Does that mean that they are _not_ true?" Paladin asked, his natural curiosity taking hold and causing him to ask what he knew to be a rude question.

"No," Thorin replied cryptically. "Merely misinformed on recent developments. I am no longer a king. Merely a dwarf." Paladin wasn't certain how one could cease being a king but decided to let the matter drop for the time being.

"Well, if all dwarves are as agreeable as you, you will make fine neighbors," Paladin offered, stretching slightly.

"I will do my best to ensure that they are," Thorin promised. "However, I do fear what my kin may do if we do not return with news soon. They are an impatient lot." Paladin snorted, wondering how dwarves could be any more impatient than hobbits.

"In that case, let's wake my cousin and get you back before they destroy his home," Paladin said with a mock shiver. "I hear that Bilbo in a rage is a sight to behold. That is, if Lobelia is to be believed."

"What's that demon of a she-hobbit done now?" Bilbo asked in a resigned tone, having woken at the sound of his name.

"More of the same," Paladin sighed rubbing his eyes wearily. It seemed like Lobelia was always in his office complaining about some slight or another—usually one that Bilbo or young Frodo had committed.

"Why does that _not_ surprise me?" Bilbo asked with a wry laugh.

"Do I need to carry out my threat?" Thorin said seriously.

"That won't be necessary," Bilbo promised. "She's a nuisance, but she's a harmless one."

"What threat?" Paladin asked at the same time that Bilbo spoke, however neither of the pair felt the need to enlighten him.

"Come, Bilbo," Thorin said offering the old hobbit a hand. "It has been a few hours since you have eaten. I'd hate for you to accuse me of starving you. Again."

"I wouldn't have accused you if you hadn't tried," Bilbo replied cheekily as he took the offered hand and stood. "However, I will take you up on the offer of food."

"In that case, I will deliver," Thorin said, brushing Bilbo's hair from his eyes. "I can't have a hungry hobbit on my hands. I'd rather face the dragon again."

"Oh!" Bilbo scoffed pushing Thorin out the door. "I hardly compare to Smaug."

"True," the dwarf agreed. "Smaug was less destructive."

"Get out!" Bilbo said. "Go offer the lads the good news and see if Frodo will start dinner. I'll be along shortly."

"And just what will you be doing?" Thorin asked shrewdly.

"Nothing for you to worry about, now get on with you," Bilbo said dismissively. Thorin opened his mouth to answer, but Bilbo shut the door before he could. With a shake of his head, the dwarf walked out the front door of the office to wait for his hobbit to come out. The reason he decided to wait wasn't only that he balked at the idea of taking orders to deliver messages—which he did—though that would be what he said if Bilbo asked. It was much less embarrassing than the truth of the matter; which was that he wasn't entirely sure how to _get_ home from where they were. Directions were never his strong suit after all.

**ooOO88OOoo**

"Paladin, can I ask a favor?" Bilbo said coming back from the door to sit down across from his cousin.

"Of course!" the Thane replied. "What can I do for you, cousin?" Bilbo's face scrunched up as he tried to think of how to best phrase the question before deciding that the best way was just to do it.

"You know of my rather _unorthodox_ relationship with Thorin, don't you?" Bilbo asked. Paladin merely nodded, his brown eyes wide in curiosity as he wondered what Bilbo could possibly want from him that involved that. He _had_ heard rumor of a Baggins wedding taking place but he hadn't put any credence in it. But even then Bilbo would need no permissions to hold one—perhaps a permit or two but those were a formality, not a favor—and from what he had heard of Thorin . . . Gandalf would nearly have to preside.

"Well . . . " Bilbo sighed again and tried to regroup. This was by far the most uncomfortable question he had ever asked another. "Thorin wants something that I cannot give him and I think you can help me with it," he finally said.

"There's nothing _I_ can do that you can't," Paladin scoffed. "I don't have half the resources you do, title or no."

"Ah, but there is," Bilbo replied. "He wants a child." At that, Paladin burst into laughter.

"And how do you expect me to help you with that?!" he asked around his laughter. "I . . . even if I _could_ bear children I wouldn't . . . not with . . . no offence of course."

"That's not what I want you to do, Paladin," Bilbo said, covering his face with his hand and speaking slowly as if he thought that his cousin was more than a little dense. "I want you to keep an ear out for any children being put up for adoption. We know we can't have one of our own and . . . well, he has his heart set on a little hobbit. A she-hobbit if we can get one but he's willing to compromise on that." Paladin's face had fallen at the clarification and Bilbo reached out to put a hand on his arm.

"I will understand if you say no," Bilbo said. "I know that we're not ideal parents. What with us both being males but . . . Thorin _is_ good with children. And we more than have the resources to care for a little one. Just . . . just think about it, alright?"

"There's nothing to think about," Paladin said in a dead sort of voice and Bilbo felt his heart sink. After how easily Paladin had agreed to the settlement, he had figured that this would be simple. As it was . . . Thorin would be crushed. He was just trying to decide how to tell his lover that they would have to look for a dwarfling if he wanted a child when Paladin spoke again.

"There is a child," he said. "I don't know if it's a boy or girl but there is a child. I think Yavanna may have planned this. Just before you arrived, I had an audience with a young Bracegirdle girl and her parents. She . . . well, she had a dalliance with another youngling and . . . you know how these things sometimes go. She refuses to reveal his name so they can marry and doesn't want the child if she has to raise it alone. They . . . they asked me to find another home for it as they won't keep a child born out of wedlock."

"And you think they'd be willing to give it to two males?"Bilbo asked, knowing that the social stigma of same sex relations was still a _bit_ stronger than the stigma involved with a child out of wedlock and that if that was their only option they might back out and keep it themselves rather than have their progeny raised by two males—and one a dwarf besides.

"Honestly, I think they'd give it to the river," Paladin answered. Bilbo nodded sadly. It was an expression that he had heard all his life, but he had never really believed it. If the occasional hobbit lass _did_ disappear for a few months and then come back from "visiting kin" a bit heavier and with wider hips . . . No one ever commented. Though he had wondered more than once what had happened to the babe.

"How far along is she?" Bilbo asked wondering if he and Thorin had time to get to Ered Luin and back before the babe was expected.

"She just missed her second month," Paladin replied. That left four months, unless she had hidden it for longer than that. If she hadn't, then they had time . . . if she had, he didn't know.

"Do you think that they would be willing to keep the babe a short time, if they agree?" Bilbo asked. The other hobbit shook his head sadly. He knew that they would not keep it a moment longer than they had to. "Would you? Thorin and I have a trip we have to make before and it cannot be delayed. I would ask Frodo, but the lad would have no idea how to care for a newborn."

"I can," Paladin replied. "If I need to I can. However _you'll_   have to be the one to break it to Pippin that he can't keep it."

"He is welcome to visit as often as he would like," Bilbo promised. Paladin simply smirked. Bilbo had _no_ idea what he had just agreed to. Pippin was a little whirlwind of energy in hobbit flesh and Paladin would be more than happy to keep a newborn for a bit if it meant pawning his son off on someone else occasionally.

"In that case, you have yourself a deal, Bilbo," the Thane said, taking on a more official tone of voice. "I will contact them tomorrow and begin the paperwork. I'll send you word once I know. But tell your dwarf that it is a very real possibility that he may have his hobbit child to go along with his settlement."

"Thank you, Paladin," Bilbo said, rising to leave and catch up with Thorin.  He didn't have far to go. Thorin was leaning against the side of the hill into which Paladin's office had been built and waiting for Bilbo.

"How'd your private meeting go?" Thorin asked, causing Bilbo, who hadn't noticed he was there, to jump.

"Went well, I think," Bilbo replied threading his fingers through Thorin's and resting his cheek on the dwarf's shoulder.

"Care to tell me what it was about?" the dwarf asked, nearly brimming over with curiosity. He was sure that Bilbo had had his reasons for wanting a private meeting but he couldn't help but wonder what they were.

"The future," Bilbo replied cryptically. He fully intended to tell Thorin what he had just been told, but he planned to make him squirm a bit first.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" Thorin said suddenly, realizing Bilbo's game and sighing with frustration.

"I will," Bilbo replied. "Only, not at the moment." Thorin laughed and bent to press a kiss to the top of Bilbo's head.

"You may be the most infuriating hobbit in all of Arda," the dwarf muttered.

"I'd have to be to keep up with you," Bilbo replied cheekily before detaching himself from the dwarf and leading them back home.

**ooOO88OOoo**

"How do you think it went, lads," Balin asked as he caught sight of Thorin and Bilbo at the bottom of the hill.

"I don't know," Bofur replied, "but Thorin looks more than a bit miffed so I'm going to wager it didn't go well." They said nothing else as they waited for Bilbo and Thorin to finish the climb, though it seemed to all of them that they were taking more time about it than they needed to. It almost seemed as if they had _known_ they had been spotted and were taking their sweet time about it just to irritate the others.

As soon as they were in earshot, Dwalin could take it no longer and cupped his hands around his mouth before yelling, "So, how'd it go?"

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?" Bilbo replied once he could do so without yelling. They exchanged a look and agreed. They would hear the bad news first.

"Bad," Balin said.

"You lot have a bit of a trip ahead of you," Bilbo said with a shrug.

"He said no," Bofur said, his usual smile falling away. He'd grown quite attached to Bilbo and Frodo and the Shire in general. He _wanted_ to stay.

"Did I say that?" Bilbo looked at Thorin in mock confusion.

"No," he agreed with a smug smirk. "And I would think they would have figured that out. After all, the trip from the Shire to Erebor and back is quite a bit longer than the trip just to Erebor."

"That it is," Bilbo replied sagely. "I know, I made it. I would have thought that they would have figured out that was what I meant." Before Bilbo had even finished speaking he found himself in a crushing hug that had his feet off the ground and Bofur was singing his praises, calling him a wonderful hobbit and all manner of kind things.

"Oh! Put me down," Bilbo groused. "It was mostly Thorin anyway. I didn't do anything other than get us through the door. Now put me down! Thorin!" Bilbo tried to call in reinforcements when it was clear that Bofur wasn't going to listen to him. Thorin let it go on a bit longer before he put an end to it.

"Leave my poor old hobbit alone," Thorin finally said once Bofur was done anyway. "You lot have a trip to plan, bearing in mind that the return trip will have to be more carefully planned as you will have wagons and women and children." There was no grumbling as they turned to go back to Bilbo's maps and plan a route. Instead, there was excited chatter.

"They're not the only ones need to plan a trip," Bilbo said taking Thorin's hand and leading him to the bench with a sigh. "You need to plan one to see your sister." Thorin sat with a frustrated huff.

"Bilbo," he sighed. "That trip can wait. It will be some time before they need the trade from the Blue Mountains. Can't I leave her in peace a bit longer?"

"What of our deal, Thorin?" Bilbo asked. "Did you change your mind about wanting a child?"

"What?" Thorin asked, shocked beyond logical thought that Bilbo was bringing that up for the second time that day. "What do you mean?"

"My meeting with Paladin," Bibo said, "the private one. It was about your desire for a hobbitling to adopt."

"And?" Thorin whispered, afraid to hope that Paladin had said yes, it would be too much good fortune all at once. There was no way that had happened. Fate was never so kind.

"He knows of one," Bilbo replied.

"He does?"Thorin asked. "Is it a boy or a girl? Oh! That doesn't matter, will they let us adopt it?" Bilbo had to smile at Thorin's enthusiasm though his smile fell as he realized he would have to tell Thorin the circumstances surrounding their acquisition of the child and Thorin was not going to like it at all.

"He does," Bilbo said slowly. "However we don't yet know if it is a boy or a girl." He paused to take in his lover's confused expression but before he could begin to explain Thorin was talking again.

"How did we not know?" Thorin asked. "Is it in a distant part of the Shire?"

"No," the hobbit replied, "Well, actually I don't know. I know they spoke to Paladin today and the mother is a Bracegirdle so I would wager they're from Hardbottle, most Bracegirdles live there but that's not the point."

"Then what is the point, Bilbo?" Thorin asked wearily. He knew that if he allowed Bilbo to continue to ramble he would _never_ come to the point. Or if he did it would be so lost in the rest that Thorin would never have guessed what it was. He wondered why Bilbo was so nervous. The hobbit only ever talked in circles like that when he was.

"It . . . it's not born yet," Bilbo said looking levelly at Thorin, his hazel eyes showing that he feared the reaction his words would cause.

"Not . . . if it's not yet born why are they . . . is the mother sickly?" Thorin asked. The only reason he could think to put a child up for adoption before its birth would be if the mother was not expected to survive labor and the father was already dead. And then it would be to family and on a contingency basis. If the mother survived, the child would remain with her, regardless of the paperwork that had been done in the event of her death. Most dwarf women went into labor with such contracts. Surely Bilbo hadn't gotten his hopes up over something that they both prayed didn't happen.

"No," Bilbo whispered looking away from the confusion in Thorin's blue eyes. He had known that the dwarf would never understand this. Not when every dwarfling was seen as a gift from the Maker himself. No self-respecting dwarf woman would give up her child while she still lived, husband or no. But hobbits weren't dwarves. Fertility was not an issue for them and this girl would have more children. True, it was a rare occurrence, but these things did happen.

"Then . . . why?" Thorin breathed. Bilbo took a deep breath before he locked eyes with Thorin's once more and said the words that he knew would anger him.

"She doesn't want it," Bilbo said as gently as he could. Thorin's eyes, as he had expected, lit with rage for the little one and Bilbo quickly began an explanation. "I told you once that there are very strict social norms in the Shire, do you remember?" Thorin nodded, but his anger showed no signs of abating.

"You thought you were unnatural and wrong because you loved me," Thorin said, the memory still causing his heart to ache at the pain and unnecessary mental anguish that Bilbo had endured. And seemingly for nothing as most of the hobbits didn't seem to mind their relationship in the least.

"I did," Bilbo agreed. "This is one of those things. She . . . well, she had a tumble with a lad and, you know how these things work. Rather than just a romp, she got a babe out of it."

"And?" Thorin asked. While it was uncommon among his own people, even the women who never married had urges and the occasional babe came from such unions. He didn't see where the issue was.

"She refuses to reveal his name or marry him," Bilbo explained. "Appearances are very important here, Thorin. You remember how preoccupied I used to be with respectability. She . . . if she keeps the babe, her reputation will never recover, nor will that of her parents and perhaps that entire branch of her family."

"So her choices are to marry the lad she tumbled or give up her babe and pretend it never existed?" Thorin asked, incredulously. He expected Bilbo to tell him he had it wrong but his hobbit merely nodded, his eyes sad. "But . . . that . . . it's cruel," Thorin protested, fury in his voice and eyes. "She's the babe's _mother_. She should get to keep it. She shouldn't' be _forced_ to give it up because of _backwards_ social mores that honor appearances over the rights of a mother. She —"

"She can't," Bilbo said cutting him off gently. "Not and keep the respect of the rest of the town. If she keeps it she will be an outcast. Those are her options and Paladin said they decided to give up the babe."

" _THEY_ decided?" Thorin asked, his voice still filled with rage, now directed at her parents that would force their own daughter to give up her child, their grandchild. "Her parents you mean?"

"I don't know," the hobbit answered honestly. "She may have. They may have. Either way it's the same. She can't keep it or she _will_ be ostracized. Especially if she keeps it against the wishes of her parents and sullies their reputation in the process. I know you don't like it but . . . it's just the way things are here, Thorin. We can't change it. We can simply offer the child and the mother a loving home for the babe."

"What if we refuse to take it?" Thorin said obstinately. Bilbo knew just how much Thorin wanted a child and for him to make such a suggestion showed just how deeply the dwarf was bothered by this policy.

"Paladin hinted that they would . . . don't make me tell you this, Thorin," Bilbo pleaded. "It will only hurt you to know. Just suffice it to say that when they agree to give it to us, we will take the child. Alright?" Even if Bilbo had refused to say it, Thorin knew what had been avoided and it made him feel numb that the grandparents and mother of a child would be more willing to _murder_ it than to take a blow to their respectability if there was no other way to be rid of it. He let out a snort at the thought that people said _dwarves_ were too proud.  

"How long?" Thorin asked, beginning to make travel arrangements in his head so that they could get to Ered Luin and back before the babe was born. He would not have it killed just because they had been out of town and he knew that Bilbo did not want that either.

"Four months, more or less," Bilbo replied. "That should be enough time to visit your sister and return and if not, Paladin has agreed to keep the babe for us until we return. We just have to agree to explain to his young son why he doesn't get to keep it and allow him to visit occasionally." Thorin nodded but made plans in his mind all the same. He could make a sword before Bilbo's birthday, make arrangements with Tom for a holiday and get everything together so that they could leave the day after the party if Bilbo was agreeable. There would be no reason they shouldn't be able to be back in time for the birth, unless of course Dís _did_ kill them. 


	33. Comfort

The joyous atmosphere inside Bag End was a bit jarring for Thorin when he had calmed enough that Bilbo felt it was safe for them to go inside. In his outrage over what he had just heard he'd almost forgotten that he had brought good news to the others—and that the end result of the situation he and Bilbo were in _could_ be seen as good news. Even so, he found that he was unable to share in the happiness of the others, partially because he was unsure if he wanted to live somewhere where people could be so cruel to their own kin.

It wasn't that Thorin was surprised that the world was a cruel place, he wasn't. That was a lesson that he had learned from a very young age. People were always cruel to those weaker than themselves. Women, children, the poor. They were always at risk from others but for it to be _kin_ . . . that was something that Thorin couldn't ever understand. He would never understand family that could so easily forsake one of their own just because of social customs.

As the others began to break out instruments and let another cask of ale, Thorin stood. He felt a bit guilty when all the revelry stopped as the others stared at him.

"I'm going to bed," he said simply. "It was a trying day. Enjoy your party." With that, he walked out of the room, ignoring the way that Bilbo's hazel eyes stared after him.

"Why's he—"

"Don't worry about it, Frodo, my lad," Bilbo said patting him on the shoulder. "It was just a difficult negotiation. Thorin was forced to make a few concessions today that he did not want to in order to gain what he wants. He'll be alright. Just give him time to come to terms with it."

"Such as?" Balin asked, feeling guilty as he wondered just what Thorin had given up to get them what they wanted.

"Nothing too terrible, I assure you," Bilbo promised, seeing the worry beginning to spread and dampening the festive mood. "In the end, he won't regret it. I will tell you all about it later, but I'd rather not go into it again at the moment. Just do as he says. You lot enjoy your party and I'll go make sure he doesn't brood over it for too long." With that, Bilbo, too, stood and excused himself from the party.

Despite Thorin and Bilbo's encouragement to continue the celebration, all this talk of disappointing concessions filled them with guilt and effectively ruined the mood. Rather than the raucous party that had been developing, they instead had a more sedate celebration as they both toasted their gain and gave thanks for Thorin's loss, whatever it was. They only hoped that Bilbo had told the truth and Thorin had not sacrificed too much for their sake. Especially not when he had already given so much for the welfare of their people.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Bilbo followed Thorin down the hall towards the room they shared. The door was closed and for half a moment Bilbo debated about whether to knock or just open it and walk right in before deciding that knocking was probably best. Even if it _was_ technically his house, Thorin did live there and was entitled to some measure of privacy. With his mind made up, Bilbo rapped smartly on the door. When no answer came, he opened it and poked his head around the door.

"Thorin?" he called quietly, prepared to leave if his presence was unwanted. He was more than a bit worried when, rather than the snarl he had expected, no answer came from the dwarf. When a second, louder, repitiion of his name failed to elicit a response, Bilbo crossed the room and sat beside his lover on the bed. He said nothing but simply threaded his fingers through Thorin's knowing that the dwarf would talk when he was ready.

He wasn't certain how long they sat there with the silence stretching between them before Thorin sighed.

"How can they do it?" he asked, his voice more lost than Bilbo had ever heard it before. The hobbit needed no clarification as to what the dwarf was referring to. He knew. But that didn't mean that he knew how to answer it. At least not in a way that would help Thorin understand.

"It . . . it's just the way things _are_ here, Thorin," he said eventually.

"That . . . custom doesn't justify it," the dwarf said sadly. "It explains why there is no public outcry that they would abandon a child and why your Thane is willing to assist them but . . . tell me how _they_ can bear to _do_ it. How can they—" he had to pause a moment before he could continue and when he did, his pain at what was happening nearly strangled the words.

"The babe is _kin_. _Kin_ , Bilbo. Even if she can have more . . . it's not as if they will replace the life—the soul—of this one." He paused again and Bilbo knew that he was thinking of his own lost kin and how even if they were given this babe it would not replace his lost nephews. How it might, in fact, remind him of them with every passing day.

"How?" he asked again. "If I could choose . . . I would _never_ . . . "

"They have no choice," Bilbo repeated, placing his hands on Thorin's face and pulling the dwarf against his shoulder. "I would wager that they like this no more than you do but there is nothing else they can do. You can't change this, Thorin. You are only one dwarf. The only thing you _can_ do is make the situation as easy as possible. You can love this child. You can't change the Shire and you can't change the past."

"Then why?" the dwarf asked, feeling all the world like a dwarfling again for his lack of understanding. "If they want to keep the child they should. Backwards social customs be damned. They shouldn't do something they do not want to. They should do as they wish."

"As you did?" Bilbo asked quietly, hating himself for it. He knew that it was a low blow but he knew that it would calm Thorin's rage to see that there was no way a simple hobbit family could flout tradition if a dwarf king had been unable to.

"That was—"

"The exact same thing," Bilbo said gently, stroking Thorin's hair. "They will give up their kin, as custom requires, just as you brought yours on the quest as was required of you. In the end I would argue that this is actually less cruel. After all, the babe is guaranteed a decent home and survival while your nephews. . ." Bilbo did not say it but he did not need to. The point was made. Once more, they drifted into silence, Thorin resting his head on Bilbo's shoulders and mentally cursing fate that was so cruel to families and Bilbo pretending not to feel the moisture soaking through his shirt from Thorin's tears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone! I hope that you all had safe and fun celebrations.
> 
> Yes, this was a short one, but it was really the best place to cut it. The next little chunk takes a bit of a time jump and would have been horribly jarring if left in here. Good news is that the party is just over the horizon and then Dís.


	34. A Hobbitling, Preparations and Trips

The next few days passed in relative peace. Thorin was a bit more melancholy than he had been since his resurrection and Bilbo a bit more sedate but things continued much the same way they had since the dwarves had arrived in Hobbiton: Thorin went to work every day—and had begun working on the sword and teaching Tom and Bilbo how it was done—while the remainder of the dwarves spent the day harassing poor Frodo—with Gandalf "supervising", of course.

It didn't take long for Paladin to approach Bilbo one evening as they were returning home from the forge and press a note into his hand. It went unnoticed by the other hobbits as they seemed to have taken to the idea that ignoring the strangeness of the dwarves and not giving them undo attention was the easiest way to get things to go back to normal. Bilbo simply slipped it into his pocket and waited until later that night to read it. There were only three words: "they said yes." He sat it down beside him with a sigh, not knowing how to tell Thorin. He jumped as he heard the very same dwarf speak from the doorway.

"Well," Thorin asked, leaning against the door with an expression of forced indifference on his face. "What did it say?"

"They said yes," Bilbo said. "They will give us the child." Thorin nodded slowly. Though his eyes were still sad he had made his peace with this. After all, what they did with their kin was their own business, not his. They wouldn't even have been his to command had he retained his title.

"Then we will give it the love they should have," he said simply. "Come. Let's tell the others the good news." Bilbo was a bit shocked at his calm acceptance in light of his anger and sorrow earlier but he did have to admit that he was glad this was not something that would torture Thorin. After all, he'd only done it to make the dwarf happy. He was equally as shocked at the lack of rage that the other dwarves showed to the pronouncement. He'd expected broken crockery at the least and serious structural damage at the most but not the calm acceptance they displayed.

"You mean you're not shocked?" he asked.

"Wish I could say I was," Bofur replied with a shrug.

"Aye, lad," Dwalin agreed. "Not all races are as kind to their own as we dwarves."

"Indeed," Balin added. "It's not an uncommon practice in the villages of men. I hear that it's different in the great cities but . . . well, I'd not have thought that hobbits shared it but it's not unheard of, even if it is a shame."

"But . . . Thorin—"  Bilbo protested looking at his lover in confusion.

"Has had little dealings with the day-to-day activities of men," Balin said gently. "Yes, he treated with their leaders and worked for their men but he never socialized with them or spent more time than necessary in their towns."

"But you—"

"I studied their customs to better know how to advise him in negotiations," Balin said. "That's how I first learned of it. And being so close to the city of Dale . . . you see things."

"That's where I learned of it," Bofur said. " While it can't compare to dwarven ale in strength, the men of Dale do make many different flavors that I do occasionally nip into town to sample."

"And the pretty tavern maids have nothing to do with it," Dwalin scoffed.

"They might," Bofur replied cheekily. "And occasionally one of the prettier ones goes missing for a bit only to come back a bit heavier. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what happens."

"Clearly," Dwalin muttered before dodging the roll Bofur lobbed at his head for the slight. After that, the dwarves descended into good natured insults and Bilbo knew there'd be no reasoning with them for quite some time.

"Congratulations, Uncle, Thorin," Frodo said offering them a smile as he tried to ignore the dwarves. "I know from experience that this child will be well looked after. And I'd like to do what I can to help. If you need anything just ask."

"Thank you," Thorin said. If he'd  been honest with himself, he had been more worried about how Frodo would take it than he had been about his kin. He could still remember Fíli's ire when he'd learned that his mother was having another child.

_"You're replacing me?" he'd demanded, his little blue eyes wide. "I don't want replaced!"_

_It had taken the combined efforts of Dís, Víli an himself to convince the lad that a new child did not mean that the first was being replaced._

_"Your mother didn't replace me," Thorin had reminded him._

_"Yeah, but she's a girl," Fíli had countered. "What if she'd been a boy?"_

_"This babe might be a girl," Thorin had replied, not wanting to feed the lad's fears by telling him that there **had** been a boy between him and Dís.  He wasn't sure that Fíli would understand that concept of death._

_"That'd be worse," Fíli had muttered. "I don't want a girl." Dís had laughed and ruffled her son's hair before lifting him into her lap._

_"I'm afraid we have to leave that up to the Maker to decide. It's not as if we can vote, sweetheart," she said, leaning her cheek against his head._

_"I still don't want a girl," Fíli muttered, burrowing into his mother's neck  sullenly._

Fíli eventually got over not wanting a sibling and the two became inseparable. But, as Thorin thought more about it, he realized that his fear was unfounded. Frodo was much older than Fíli had been, old enough to know better than to fear he was being replaced. In fact, he was about to be an adult, if Thorin remember rightly. He was pulled out of his musings by Bilbo's elbow in his ribs.

"Hm?" he asked, having not heard any of the conversation since he had thanked Frodo.

"I said that we'll see how he feels when we're asking him to watch the babe while we're seeing to official business," Bilbo repeated, a merry twinkle in his eyes. "Especially if that happens to take us out of town overnight."

"Oh," Frodo scoffed waving off his uncle's statement. "It's just a baby. How bad can it be?" At that Thorin raised an eyebrow at Bilbo.

"Only child," Bilbo said sagely. At that Thorin nodded. He'd wondered why Bilbo had only adopted Frodo and not his siblings and now he had the answer. At that, the other dwarves began to laugh and Gandalf had a decided smirk to his face.

"You're in for a lesson, laddie," Dwalin said patting Frodo on the shoulder with enough force that the young hobbit rocked forward a bit. "That is if hobbit-spawn are anything like dwarflings."

"The babe of one race is much like that of any other, Master Dwalin," Gandalf said nodding and taking a puff of his pipe. "Hobbit, dwarf, man, elf . . . for a time they are all the same helpless things."

"Aye," Bofur agreed, his tone fond as he thought of his niece and nephews despite the harshness of his words. "Helpless little screamers, the lot of them."

"What?" Frodo asked having never spent any time around truly tiny children.

"Yes," Balin agreed, a fond smile on his face as well. "Little screaming bundles of flesh. Always hungry or wet. They always need something, Mahal bless their little souls."

"Or dirty," Thorin added with a laugh. "Don't forget that. For a time it seems all they do is sleep, eat, void and scream."

"And you _want_ one of them?" Frodo asked incredulously. So far the young hobbit hadn't heard anything that made it sound like a child was a desirable thing.

"Aye lad," Thorin agreed, his blue eyes softer than Frodo had ever seen them. "That's only a phase. Once they're past that . . . there is no greater gift from the Maker than a child. Someday you'll understand." Frodo scoffed at the idea. If that was all a baby had to offer he could never see himself desiring one and couldn't see how anyone in their right mind would, if they knew, that was. Perhaps that was how children came into being. No one told new couples what they were like. It had to be the biggest trick in the universe. There was no other explanation for it.

**ooOO88OOoo**

The rest of the week leading up to the party went comparatively smoothly. Plans, both for the party and for travel, were finalized and everything was ready. There was one brief incident involving a handful of curious hobbit children attempting to peek under the cover of Gandalf's wagon, but a well timed firework going off—"Completely harmless, Bilbo, I assure you. That one was heatless"—scared them off from attempting it again.

"Can't have them sneaking trade secrets, can I?" Gandalf had asked in justification offering Frodo a wink. No one had believed him. They all knew that the old wizard just liked to keep his surprises just that.

Thorin completed his sword and secured an unknown amount of time off from Tom to visit his sister. Even if Thorin though he was being sly, it didn't escape Tom's notice that he did not promise to come back. He knew that travel could be dangerous, but in this part of the world he'd heard that it was mostly safe. If an armed dwarf was afraid he might not return . . . well it merely solidified Tom's conviction that he would never leave the Shire.

While Thorin tried to arrange that, Bilbo was busy attempting to make arrangements for the babe. Even if they did not need much, there were still things he needed to acquire and he needed to do it before they could leave. There were clothes to commission, a crib to order, a _goat_ to procure as neither Thorin nor himself was capable of lactation. More than once, as he was forced to endure yet more questioning stares from his neighbors, Bilbo wondered if this was worth it. Then the first package came. The smile on Thorin's face when he had unwrapped the bundle of tiny clothing was more than worth a few more rumblings about his sanity.

"Bilbo," the dwarf said, putting his finger into the arm hole of one tiny gown before setting it down and looking at another. "I think they've made a mistake. These . . . they have sent you clothing for a doll, not a child."

"There's no mistake," Bilbo said taking the garments from his lover and folding them into drawers to await the babe. "These may even be a bit big."

"Big?!" Thorin asked, looking once more at the tiny things Bilbo was folding. He couldn't imagine something so small. He was certain that his nephews hadn't been _that_ small.

"Umhm." Bilbo said absently. "The tailor looked at me oddly when I asked for newborn clothing but this is the standard pattern. I can order something in a slightly larger size if you'd like. It's not like it won't grow into them."

"That might be good," Thorin muttered picking up one of the garments in blue. Not for the first time, he wondered if this was such a good idea after all. Even though he knew that it would be smaller than a dwarf, he hadn't anticipated such a tiny creature. Even so, he hid his doubts and helped Bilbo fold. After all, there was no need to worry Bilbo over something that he would get over with time.

Sadly for Frodo, the other dwarves had no such qualms about worrying the younger hobbit. As the day of the party grew nearer, they grew yet more determined to traumatize Bilbo's heir into fainting enough to fill their quota and win the bet. Sadly for _them_ , hobbits truly are highly adaptable things and it was growing more difficult by the day to shock Frodo and even when they did, though he might pale he rarely fainted. It was quite a disappointment. Especially as Thorin and Bilbo could still manage it, making it seem all the more likely that Gandalf would win yet again.

That may have been part of what lead to their reaction to what happened on September 20th, two days before the party. Bilbo's temper had been a bit short lately. As the party, and the trip to Ered Luin, grew closer, Thorin had become a bit . . . overbearing in his attentions to the hobbit. Though the dwarves understood that Thorin was making the most of what might be their last days—female dwarves were notoriously vicious where their children were concerned, even to kin, and Thorin _had_ led her sons to their deaths. None of the other dwarves envied him his position—Bilbo, well, the hobbit had never appreciated being coddled.

He was handling it well, but everyone, except Thorin, could see that Bilbo had about reached the end of his patience. The tipping point came one day at elevensies when Bilbo asked Bofur to toss him a roll. The dwarf obliged and gently lobbed one at the hobbit, only to have Thorin's hand shoot out and catch it before depositing it on Bilbo's plate.

Bilbo looked from his lover to the roll and back again a couple of times before his eyes hardened. Thorin had gone back to eating and failed to notice, but the rest did. Balin and Dwalin exchanged looks as they both wondered if they should make a run for the door or attempt to eat what they could before they would have to leave for the rest of the day. In the end, they decided on eating, pointedly ignoring Frodo's look of horror as they began shoveling food into their mouths as if they were starving. They only froze again when Bilbo spoke.

"Thorin, can I see you in our room for a moment?" Bilbo asked, his tone on of forced sweetness. The rest of the dwarves cringed at it. They had heard that tone before, generally just before the hobbit had taken one of them to task over something. They had to admit that they pitied Thorin in that moment. It was clear to them that the hobbit was livid.

"Of course," Thorin said getting rapidly to his feet and offering a hand to Bilbo, which the hobbit pointedly ignored as he climbed to his own feet. As Bilbo and Thorin made their way down the hall, Bofur stood suddenly, rubbing his neck.

"Well, lads, what's say we go for a bit of a walk and harass the locals?" he asked.

"Let's," Balin agreed climbing to his feet as well and heading for the door, having no desire to hear Bilbo yell at Thorin and knowing just how powerful the hobbit's lungs where when he was provoked.

"I'm up for a walk," Dwalin said grabbing a few cookies off the table before joining his brother.

"I think I will come as well," Gandalf said grabbing his hat off the wall. "Might even go as far as the Southfarthing and see about acquiring some Longbottom Leaf from the growers themselves."

"There's no need to go that far, Gandalf," Frodo said in confusion from his spot at the table. He didn't understand why they were all acting so peculiar. "You can get that right here in Hobbiton. In fact, I have some if you're interested. You don't have to purchase your own."

"What is this 'Longbottom Leaf'?" Bofur asked as he walked towards the door with Gandalf, ignoring Frodo's statement about it being unnecessary to leave.

"Only the finest weed in the Southfarthing and—don't tell Bilbo I said this, his ego is already too large for a hobbit anyway—perhaps the finest in Middle Earth," Gandalf said with a smile.

"Then to the Southfarthing it is!" Bofur said, thrilled at the prospect of smoking the finest weed in Middle Earth and wanting to compare it to what he generally smoked.

"You will not regret this, Bofur," Gandalf promised. "It will be well worth the trip."

"But that's so far!" Frodo exclaimed.

"How far, lad?" Dwlain asked, wondering if it would keep them gone long enough that Bilbo and Thorin would be done both fighting and making up by the time they got back.

"It'll take you all day to get there and back again, maybe more depending on how fast you ride," Frodo said. The dwarves shared a speculative glance.

"What do you think, lads?" Balin eventually said. "Will that be enough or do we need to make for Bree instead?"

"It'll do," Dwalin replied just as Bilbo's voice came wafting out to them from down the hall. Frodo couldn't understand what he was saying. The words were harsh, guttural. It wasn't a language he'd ever heard before, but judging by the way the others paled, it must have been something vile.

"Let's go," Balin said. "By the sounds of it, Bilbo's in a right foul mood. I don't want to be here for this. You really should come along, Frodo. You don't want to witness this."

"No lad," Dwalin agreed. "Come with us. Trust me on this."

"I'm fine, really I just—"

"WHY DON'T YOU **EVER** LISTEN TO **ANYTHING** I SAY YOU **STUBBORN** DWARF!?"  Bilbo's irate voice cut him off and Frodo's eyes went wide at hearing his uncle yell.

"I LISTEN WHEN WHAT YOU ARE SAYING MAKES **ANY** SENSE, YOU . . . YOU IMPERTINENT HOBBIT!" Thorin's roar returned and left Frodo more than shocked. He'd never heard the dwarf yell before and felt that it was quite intimidating. Rather than be intimidated, he heard Bilbo _laugh_. That decided it for him.

"Alright," Frodo replied shaking his head remembering all the jokes about what happened after one of these fights and scrambling to his feet before grabbing his walking stick from the hall and running out the door.

"What happened to being '"fine"? Eh, lad?" Bofur asked nudging the young hobbit gently.

"Someone has to keep an eye on you lot," Frodo replied with a smirk. "Can't have you rampaging through the Shire without supervision, can we?"

They laughed but said nothing as they set off for the Southfarthing, not particularly caring about whether or not Gandalf was telling the truth about the quality of the weed. Anything that would get them gone was enough. As they walked, Dwalin had to fight off images of what might be going on behind them. As he shivered, he was infinitely glad that Frodo had seen reason and come with them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one felt a bit choppy, but I do hope that you enjoyed it :)


	35. The Argument and the Bravery of Hobbits

As he followed Bilbo to their room, Thorin racked his mind but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why the hobbit wanted a private word. Things had been going well lately in his opinion. Poor Frodo seemed to finally have grown accustomed to his kin, or at least had ceased fainting at any rate. The hobbits had been, if not friendly then at least _mostly_ cordial and didn't seem too miffed by the continued presence of the dwarves for the most part. All of the necessary plans for their trip, Bilbo's birthday and the babe were with completed or nearly so. Things seemed to be going their way for once. He could think of nothing that might have angered the hobbit but something clearly had.

That much at least was clear to Thorin. Bilbo's very being vibrated with anger in a way he had only seen a few times before. But what concerned him the most was that he could actually _hear_ the hobbit's footsteps. As quietly as Bilbo generally moved the fact that his steps were audible told Thorin more than he needed to know about his lover's state of mind. Bilbo wasn't just angry; he was furious.

If he hadn't already known that the hobbit was furious, the way his hazel eyes flashed as he slammed the door behind them and rounded on Thorin would have told him.

"What is _wrong_ with you?!" Bilbo hissed glaring up at the dwarf.

"What do you mean?" Thorin asked in return, barely resisting the urge to ask the same of Bilbo as he was the one behaving strangely. "Nothing is wrong with me. I—"

"Then what was _that?_ " the hobbit snarled gesturing towards the dining room.

"What was _what_?" the dwarf asked, his brows coming together as he replayed the last few moments in his head and drawing a blank on what had enraged the hobbit so. He could think of nothing that he had done and did not appreciate having his lover's temper directed at him for no reason.

"That! In there! Just now," Bilbo snapped, not understanding why Thorin was being so intentionally dense. Surely he knew what he had done and was only refusing to acknowledge it just to be irritating. While he was rarely so petty, Bilbo knew that he had it in him to behave in such a way. While at any other time, the confused expression on Thorin's face would have made him laugh, at the moment it only fed the anger.

"The roll?" Thorin asked with an incredulous laugh. Surely Bilbo wasn't _this_ angry about him catching a roll. There had to be something he was missing. The hobbit's next words changed his look of incredulity to one of scorn.

"Yes!" Bilbo exclaimed throwing up his hands. "Yes, the roll. I had had that under control, Thorin. I didn't _need_ you to catch it for me!"

"Wait," Thorin said slowly, praying for the patience to solve this without it becoming a fight, and his tone clearly showing his strain. "Do you mean to tell me, that you _demanded_ that I leave _breakfast—_ elevensies, whatever it is you call it," he amended at Bilbo's superior expression (which did nothing to extend his already short temper), "like an errant _dwarfling_ so that you could chastise me for catching a roll? Is that _truly_ what you just did? Are you honestly willing to start an argument over a _roll_?"

Bilbo could tell from Thorin's tone that he expected him to either deny it or apologize for it, but the hobbit had no intention of doing any such thing. Thorin could just stuff his temper for all Bilbo cared at the moment. This had gone on quite long enough as it was and he knew that if he didn't speak his mind now he never would.

"It wasn't _just_ the roll, Thorin," Bilbo sighed, running a hand through his hair. Thorin was right about one thing. He didn't want to fight about this. Not really. "You've been doing things like that all week. Ever since we decided to visit your sister, actually."

"Things like what?" Thorin growled, his frustration coming out that Bilbo was hurling yet more accusations at him, regardless of the fact that the hobbit had ceased yelling. As much as he loved Bilbo, sometime the hobbit made him want to pull his own hair out.

"You've been doing things for me that I'm perfectly capable of doing!" Bilbo explained, growing irritated again that Thorin needed it spelled out for him. "Yesterday you took the baking tray from me even though I told you I had it and nearly dropped it in the process."

"Which wouldn't have happened if you wouldn't have tried to refuse to give it to me," Thorin added with a dismissive gesture.

"And the day before?" Bilbo asked growing angry again at Thorin's easy dismissal of his complaints.

"Do you mean in the market?" Thorin scoffed. "All I did was—"

"Butt in unnecessarily!" Bilbo finished, not caring what Thorin believed that he had done.

"It was hardly unnecessary, Bilbo," Thorin argued. "That hobbit was saying such _dreadful_ things about you. What was I supposed to do, ignore him?"

"Yes!" Bilbo said throwing up his hands and beginning to pace. "We ignore them. You can't stop them from gossiping. Eru knows I tried when I first came home but that just makes it worse. If you ignore them . . ."

"You honestly expect me to ignore such slights against you?" Thorin snapped, wondering just what was wrong with hobbits that they would allow others to speak so harshly about their lovers, especially when what was being said was untrue.

"That's hardly the worst thing that's been said about me in the last sixty years," Bilbo replied with a snide laugh. "In fact it was rather mild comparatively. What does it truly matter if he thinks that I am willing to flaunt customs to marry a male dwarf royal because I am out of money?"

"I will not have him sullying your good name by suggesting that you would sell yourself for money?" Thorin replied stubbornly.

"They have said _much_ worse," Bilbo said growing frustrated as Thorin refused to understand. "And I no longer have a good name to sully. I haven't since I ran off with a group of dwarves and came back a year later with gold. Don't you see? I don't _care_ what they say."

"I do," Thorin snapped, enraged that Bilbo cared so little for what his own people thought about him. Or more accurately, that he had been so poorly treated by his kin that he would resign himself to enduring whatever barbs they threw at him. It was wrong.

"Why?" Bilbo demanded. "Because you're worried they're telling the truth? Do _you_ think I chose you as my mate because I was impoverished and needed security?"

Rather than dignify that question with a true answer, Thorin turned away growling a curse in Khuzdul. Of course he knew that Bilbo hadn't married him for security. When they'd married he still had nothing to his name. If anything it almost could have been argued  that _he_ —the King of Durin's folk—married into money.

"I know what that one means, Thorin," Bilbo snapped. "and I would greatly appreciate it if you wouldn't say such things about my mother."

"I didn't mean _your_ mother," Thorin replied feeling a bit sheepish at having been called out on his swearing.

"I can't see another meaning behind it," Bilbo said a small smile creeping onto his face as Thorin seemed to concede the battle. In the past, Thorin had only resorted to his native tongue in an argument when it was over. All the same, Bilbo wanted clarification.

 "Tell me," he asked lightly, "did that slip into Khuzdul, vulgar as it was, mean that you will attempt to allow me to handle the things I am capable of?"

"No," the dwarf replied simply. "I will continue to care for you as any good mate would. As a reputable dwarf I can do no less." Bilbo wasn't sure exactly _why_ his next words came out in Khuzdul. Perhaps it was because he knew more vile curses in that language than he did in any other—though the look on Thorin's face had he been sworn at in Sindarin might have been worth sacrificing a bit of vulgarity—or perhaps it was because the guttural nature of the language more aptly fit his mood. Whatever the reason, the next thing Bilbo knew, he was chest-to-chest with his lover swearing vehemently. 

"Bilbo!" Thorin gasped, scandalized by the things that were coming out of the hobbit's mouth and making a mental note to have a chat with his kin about their language. "Now that's uncalled for!" he snapped when Bilbo suggested that his father may have actually been an orc.

"No it's not!" Bilbo argued, switching back to Westron to continue the argument on more equal ground. "Only someone fathered by an orc could be so stubborn and inconsiderate." Thorin scoffed but Bilbo continued on undeterred, "When I say I have something under control, I do. Let me do it."

"Bilbo," Thorin sighed squeezing the bridge of his nose. "I don't understand why you are so upset about this."

"I've said it more times than I can count!" Bilbo said only to be ignored as Thorin was still talking.

"It is the behavior that is expected of any larger mate in my culture," he was saying. "I am _expected_ to assist you with things that might be beyond you."

"None of those things were beyond me!" Bilbo snapped. "Why aren't you listening? I. Was. Fine. Just how frail do you think I am?!" but Thorin still wasn't listening, trying instead to make the hobbit understand what he was asking Thorin to go against.

"If I was to allow you to become injured attempting something because I refused to offer you assistance when you needed it, what kind of mate would I be?" Thorin asked. He opened his mouth to speak again but Bilbo had had enough.

"WHY DON'T YOU **EVER** LISTEN TO **ANYTHING** I SAY YOU **STUBBORN** DWARF!?"  Bilbo yelled, figuring that was the only way to be heard over Thorin's continued, incessant talking.

"I LISTEN WHEN WHAT YOU ARE SAYING MAKES **ANY** SENSE, YOU . . . YOU IMPERTINENT HOBBIT!" Thorin roared. For a moment they stood there glaring at one another before Bilbo closed his eyes with a laugh. The situation was ridiculous. They were standing in their bedroom, yelling, because Thorin had caught a _roll_.

Thorin eyed his lover warily. In the past, Bilbo laughing in the middle of an argument never boded well. It was with more than a little apprehension that he waited for the hobbit to speak. Though he was relieved to see that some of the anger had evaporated from Bilbo's eyes when they opened again.

"Impertinent hobbit?" Bilbo scoffed, his tone light. "That's the best you can come up with?"

"Better than 'stubborn dwarf'," Thorin replied with a snort. "Especially when you are being unfair."

"Oh?" Bilbo asked, his eyebrow coming up.

"Yes," Thorin replied feeling a bit hurt that Bilbo would think he didn't care enough to listen. "I do listen to you. I heard what you said. But this time, you're the one not listening. Can't you see that all I want to do is care for you as I always should have. More than once you've referenced the sixty years you spent alone. Sixty years that never should have happened."

"But they did," Bilbo said placing a hand on Thorin's arm. "They did happen and we can't pretend they didn't. You died. I don't blame you for that but it is still something you have to remember. Just as you have to remember that in two days I will be 111 years old and have spent nearly all of those years _without_ you. I've learned to get along on my own."

"Besides," Bilbo added attempting to lighten the suddenly oppressive mood, "you put me to much more challenging things than gossiping hobbits and flying dinner rolls. I seem to recall something about orcs, jail breaks and stealing from a dragon?" It had the effect he wanted and a small smile crossed Thorin's face, even if it didn't reach his eyes.

"That I did," Thorin replied placing his palm on Bilbo's cheek and stroking it with his thumb. "I did send you into a dragon's den. Alone. Is that not reason enough for me to want to dote on you now? I risked your life," he paused and released a derisive snort. "I even tried to take it myself. I think carrying a tray or correcting a fool is small compensation for such neglect, don't you? But if it truly bothers you so, I will attempt to allow you to do things for yourself unless you request aid. Would that please you?"

"That's all I want," Bilbo replied. "If I need help, I will ask for it."

Thorin nodded before a small smirk crossed his face. He may be about to concede the argument but he would not allow the hobbit to have the last word.

"Do not hesitate to do so," he returned. "You are getting rather old, you know? You look so much like you did the last time I saw you that I often forget just how much time has actually passed. In fact, to me it only feels like yesterday that you were sitting beside me around a camp fire telling me that if you ever made it home you would never move from your armchair again. Wouldn't you much rather do just that; sit in front of your fireplace with your pipe and keep your old bones warm rather than traipse across the country with me again?"

"And let you have all the fun?" Bilbo asked in return even if part of his mind wanted to do just that. "I think I would rather come with you. After all, old bones that sit idle lose their ability to move, or so I've been told."

"I truly cannot convince you otherwise?" Thorin said, an almost desperate edge to his words. "You don't want to stay and prepare for the babe. Or see to Frodo or your garden?"

"The babe is prepared for," Bilbo replied, knowing that this was where they'd been headed all along. Thorin had been dropping hints all week that he thought Bilbo should stay. It only made sense that it would come out now. "Frodo can see to himself. He's a smart lad and in two days will be an adult. And I have a gardener. Even if mobility is good for old bones, gardening has become rather tedious to me. I'd much rather go. After all, I've never seen a dwarven settlement that hadn't had a dragon living in it for over a hundred years."

"You still won't," Thorin muttered grimly as he thought of just how angry his sister was going to be. The wrath of Smaug would pale in comparison.

"Thorin," Bilbo said with a laugh. "There's not a dragon in the Blue Mountains. This quest is far less perilous than the last." Thorin said nothing even though he wanted to ask Bilbo if seeing a dwarven settlement was worth his life.

"Come," Bilbo said offering the dwarf his hand. "Let's finish the meal I so rudely drug you away from. I'm willing to bet we have the house to ourselves." Thorin shook his head with a small laugh. Bilbo was probably right. His kin had most likely taken Frodo and fled. He wanted to tell them that it had all been for naught, this hadn't been _that_ kind of fight. Or at least the resolution was not conducive to that type of making up, not with the melancholic atmosphere that surrounded them. No. They need not have fled nothing _carnal_ was going to happen. Not at the moment.

**ooOO88OOoo**

"Do you think it's safe lads?" Bofur asked looking at the round green door as if there were a horde of orcs waiting on the other side.

"It's been the better part of the day," Balin replied uncertainly. "and Bilbo is getting up in years. Surely it's safe to return by now."

"So," Frodo asked, "does that mean you'll be the one to go in?"

"Me?!" Balin demanded. "Why me?"

"Well, you are the oldest," Dwalin replied. "It should be more difficult for them to traumatize you."

"And easier for my heart to give out," Balin snorted. "We should send the youngest. He'll be better able to take the shock." Bofur snorted at that knowing that Balin had put his money on Thorin and Bilbo and that Frodo seeing them in _that_ position would guarantee him a win as the poor lad would never be able to look at them with a straight face again.

"Are you volunteering then?" Balin demanded glaring at the snorting dwarf.

"No," Bofur said. "What about Dwalin? He's already walked in on them once—"

"Which was more than enough, thank you," Dwalin cut in. This just led to another round of bickering that caused Frodo to sigh and reach for the doorknob while the dwarves debated the merits of camping in the garden. As if he would do such a thing when there was a warm bed just inside! Besides, even if he had been more than willing to go with them and miss the fight itself, he still believed that they were exaggerating about the more amorous aspects of such a fight. Shaking his head at the continued bickering of the dwarves, he walked into Bag End leaving the door open behind him.

"Um, lads," Bofur said suddenly, looking around. "Where's Frodo?"

"What is it with you and losing hobbits?" Dwalin asked shaking his head.

"I don't lose hobbits, I just notice they're missing," Bofur replied.

"He can't have gone far," Balin said looking around as if he expected Frodo to pop out of the flowerbed. He felt the blood drain from his face as he caught sight of the open door. "Lads, you don't think . . . "

"No," Dwalin replied. "Not after what we told him. He'll not have gone in there."

"Just like Bilbo would never have gone into Smaug's den after hearing tales of dragon fire and ruin?" Bofur asked. The dwarves exchanged glances before realizing there was nothing they could do for it; they had to go in. They may not have been able to accompany Bilbo into the mountain all those years ago, but they could make sure that Frodo didn't face this alone.

As one they crept into the house, apprehensive about the sight that might greet them but willing to go all the same. There was nothing offensive in the entry or main hall so they continued on, led by the sound of someone moving in the kitchen.

"Frodo?" Bofur called in a loud whisper, hoping that if it was Bilbo and Thorin they would be kind enough to warn him before he made it around the corner. He was relieved when Frodo's curly head poked around the corner, his finger held to his lips.

"Shh," the hobbit chided. "Can't you move more quietly?"

"Are we sneaking?" Dwalin asked his voice much too loud for any kind of stealth.

"Yes, now hush," Frodo hissed, shooting a worried glance behind him.

"And why are we sneaking if we're guests?" Balin questioned more quietly than his brother.

"Come with me," Frodo said. "Quietly." Confused but curious enough to be willing to go along with it, they followed. The sight in the sitting room made them all smile. Thorin and Bilbo were seated on the sofa next to the fireplace, both of them fully clothed and clearly asleep. Bilbo snoring on Thorin's shoulder while the dwarf's head was rested on top of the hobbits in a way that he would surely regret when he woke the next morning.

"Now do you see?" Frodo asked quietly once they were in the kitchen once more. "I hate to wake them."

"I wouldn't wake them for the world," Balin replied. It had been too long since he had seen either of them look quite so peaceful and he would not be the one to wake them and force them back into reality and the trials that were to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all, remember me? Once more I must apologize for the delay. School started back up and there's just a ton of work that needs to be done. Good news is, school's over in five more weeks. Bad news is, I'm expecting a baby four weeks after that. I should still have time to write (newborns do sleep a lot from what I hear) but if things slow down (not more than they already have but you know what I mean) that's what's going on. That said, I will do my best to keep updates coming in a regular fashion. I hope you're still enjoying this fic and would love to hear what you thought.  
> Stickdonkeys


	36. Conversations, the Party and Many Partings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see A/N at bottom for an important question from me.

The next couple of days passed quickly and without another burst of temper from Bilbo, partially due to the fact that Thorin did, indeed, mellow when it came to assisting his lover with unnecessary tasks. Despite the peace that had settled over Bag End, or perhaps because of it, time was passing much too quickly for Thorin's tastes. In his mind, every second that passed was a second closer to the moment he would have to stand before his sister without her sons and attempt to justify his actions. As foolish as it was, the thought of seeing the pain he had caused her for himself worried him more than apologizing to Bilbo for attempting to kill him had. So while the rest of the house continued to celebrate the day of Bilbo and Frodo's births (even days before the actual event), Thorin slipped further and further into a brooding state that even Bilbo was not fully able to remove him from.

Then the day itself, September 22nd, dawned as bright and mild as any in the Shire. It was beginning to seem to Thorin that this place never had cloudy days, though that was ludicrous. The land was fertile, surely it had to rain sometime. He almost wished it would rain that day. Not to ruin Bilbo's party, but because he remembered just how little the hobbit had liked traveling in the damp. Just a bit of rain this evening to delay the trip one more day . . . was that too much to ask? He did his best not to let his dour mood show but as the others chatted loudly about the fun they were going to have that evening—more than a bit of it at Lobelia's expense—Thorin could feel his agitation growing.

How could they be so _chipper_ when he was about to set off on a journey to see his sister and break her heart once more? He knew that was all he would accomplish. Despite what Bilbo seemed to believe, she would not be glad to see him. Not after so long and not without her sons in tow. His lover seemed to believe that Dís would be more than happy to see any of her family after being alone so long, but he knew that all seeing him would do is twist the knife that had been left in an open wound so long ago. Seeing him would bring her no comfort, only pain.

He managed to sit through most of breakfast but when Balin, who should have understood his mood, turned to him with his dark eyes sparkling with mirth and mischief it was more than Thorin could take. He pushed away from the table with a huff and walked out the door without saying a word, seeking solitude in the garden, though he wasn't certain the bright flowers and sunlight were the right environment for his current state of mind.

Bilbo watched as Thorin walked out the door before turning back to the table and stirring his cup of tea with sadness in his hazel eyes. He'd known this was coming. He'd felt the tension in his lover for days but Thorin hadn't wanted to discuss it and he hadn't wanted to press the dwarf into a corner to force him to. The only thing for it now was to allow him the space to brood and then force him into proximity with his sister. Nothing else would help him. Until Thorin saw for himself that his sister was glad to see him, he would carry the guilt of what he'd done and never be truly happy. It was the only way, as much as it made Bilbo's heart ache to do it.

"Shouldn't someone—" Frodo began gesturing out the door after Thorin.

"No, lad," Dwalin replied softly. "Sometimes it's best just to let him be. Give him time. He'll come back."

"He has much on his mind," Balin added. "Once he's sorted through it he'll be back. Trust us. We've known Thorin our entire lives." Frodo looked unconvinced but remained at the table. And if his eyes occasionally strayed to the front door, well, his weren't the only ones.

**ooOO88OOoo**

After the breakfast dishes were washed—in a more subdued manner than had come to be the norm in Bag End—everyone moved off to take care of the various minor things that needed to be done before the party could take place that evening. Despite going in and out the front door in there errands, all of them left Thorin alone in his brooding. All of them, that is, except Frodo.

For some reason he couldn't explain even to himself, the sight of the dwarf sitting on his uncle's little bench in the garden and staring blankly at the roses stirred something within him and he couldn't help but try to help. Making sure that no one was looking, he grabbed both his pipe and Throin's from the mantle and a bag of the pipeweed he had bought a few days before and walked out to the garden. Before he was within five paces of the dwarf, Thorin spoke without turning to face him.

"I do not wish for your company at the moment, Bilbo," he said quietly. "Please leave me in peace." Rather than do as he'd been asked, Frodo moved around the bench and sat beside the dwarf offering him the packed pipe.

"I suppose it's a good thing I'm not my uncle then, isn't it?" he asked as he sat. The dwarf looked up at him, shock in his blue eyes before a sad smile crossed his face.

"That wasn't strictly reserved for your uncle, lad," Thorin said. "I just assumed he was the only hobbit that would try to approach me. The others are becoming a bit skittish the longer we spend here."

"How'd you know I was a hobbit?" Frodo asked. "You couldn't see me."

"Couldn't hear you either," Thorin replied. "However I could _feel_ someone there. I would have heard a dwarf, or a wizard not just felt them." Frodo nodded. He knew that hobbits were quieter than most races but he didn't know what Thorin meant about _feeling_ someone there that he couldn't hear or see. It made no sense to him but he didn't think it was the time to ask about that. Rather than say anything, he offered the dwarf the packed pipe and a light.

"I thought it might help," Frodo said in response to Thorin's raised eyebrow. The dwarf closed his eyes with a soft chuckle before offering the hobbit a small smile and taking the pipe.

"Do all hobbits think a warm meal and full pipe can solve any problem?" Thorin asked before lighting the pipe and sending a smoke ring into the air as he passed the light back to Frodo.

"No," the young hobbit replied lighting his own pipe. Thorin gave a skeptical snort and Frodo decided to clarify the statement, "Some of us think ale is also necessary. That or tea . . . or perhaps cake. Cake fixes most things." Despite himself Thorin felt a chuckle rise up his throat at hat before he slipped back into his previous melancholy.

"Cake won't fix this, Lad," he said sadly. "I doubt there is anything in Arda that can."

"Now it really can't be _that_ bad, can it?" Frodo asked, feigning incredulity that there was something that cake couldn't fix. Again, the dwarf said nothing but simply took a slow drag on his pipe, not bothering with a ring on the exhale. Frodo watched him smoke for a moment before he spoke again.

"She'll forgive you," he offered, his voice quiet and thin. "Trust me, she'll forgive you."

"She won't," Thorin replied, not looking at the hobbit and not bothering to ask how he knew what was bothering him. Hobbits were remarkably perceptive after all, or at the very least, Bagginses were. If Frodo and Bilbo were any indication.

"She will," Frodo said with a note of finality and a steel that Thorin hadn't expected.

"Really? How do you figure that, Lad?" Thorin said, turning slightly to face him and shocked to see tears in Frodo's blue eyes. "I led her _children_ to their deaths. After I _promised_ her that I would bring them home safely. How can she forgive that?"

"Because she loves you," Frodo replied as if that was the only answer there could be. "She'll be more happy to have you back with her than she will be able to express. There is no way that she would let anger or . . . or feelings of betrayal keep her from you."

The retort that was on his tongue stopped as Thorin took in the young hobbit before him. He'd never seen Frodo look quite so serious, or so melancholic and for the first time he wondered if the lad might just have more to his story than the dwarf knew. Perhaps there was darkness and pain hidden behind his smile.

They sat in silence for a bit more before Frodo sighed and got to his feet. "You'll see," he said, almost more to himself than to Thorin. "She'll forgive you."

"You seem sure of that," the dwarf said as the hobbit began walking away. "How?"

"Because," Frodo replied turning back with a sad smile. "I was very angry with my parents for going out in that boat that night and leaving me alone for a very long time but . . . if they were to walk up that path right now . . .I'd forget it all in an instant. Just to be able to _touch_ them again. No anger in the world—no matter how justified—can stand in the face of love." With that, Frodo walked away, leaving Thorin to his thoughts.

As he sat there, in the September afternoon in the quiet peace that the Shire emanated, he couldn't help but wonder if that young hobbit didn't know more about the world than the foolish old dwarf sitting in his garden did.  

**ooOO88OOoo**

As they made their way back to Bag End from the Party Field that evening, none could deny that it had been a good party. There had been food and ale aplenty—even if Dwalin and Bofur continued to (mostly) jokingly complain about the strength of it—and the fireworks. Thorin could see why Bilbo remembered them so well. He had to hand it to the old wizard, his fireworks were spectacular. His chat with Frodo had done wonders for his mood. He didn't know if it was what the hobbit had set out to do, but his words had given the dwarf hope, something he hadn't felt for a very long time. So much so, in fact, that he had even taken a _bit_ of a turn tormenting Lobelia.

He was only slightly ashamed to admit that he had found amusement in graciously offering her a serving dish only for her to squeak and shrink in on herself as she took it from him. Her confusion at his kindness only served to make it all the more interesting. He'd seen the look in her eyes when she'd sat down and had decided then that the best way to get back at her was to be kind—as she was clearly expecting something else. Eventually she'd calmed a bit, but it was clear that his shift in demeanor had unnerved her more than anything else could have.

The only tense moment had come when the other hobbits began taking gifts from the large pile that were under the tree on their way home. All of the dwarves had been outraged that the hobbits would dare steal from Frodo and Bilbo, who had been so gracious as to invite them to a large, _free_ meal.

"Oh!" Bilbo had scoffed swatting Dwalin's arm as he began to reach for his ax. "Put that away. They're _supposed_ to take a present with them when they go." This explanation, of course, was met with disbelief and it was only when Frodo chimed in and assured the dwarves that hobbits truly _did_ give away gifts on their own birthdays that peace was restored once more, even if it was a peace filled with dwarven grumbling on the strange customs of hobbits.

Other than that little snag, the party had gone off without a hitch. There was food left over to go with the guests, ale to go back to Bag End, and no one had died or been injured. Bilbo counted it as a win. He was still smiling at the looks on their faces during his speech as he changed from his party clothes into traveling clothes. A smile that fell slightly as he thought of just how shocked they _would_ have been had he been able to carry it out as he's wished. _Disappearing_ at the end . . . oh it would have been marvelous. Even though he knew that it was better this way, he couldn't help the words that came from his mouth.

"Thorin?" he asked quietly, turning to look at the dwarf checking their bags one final time. His lover hummed in response but remained focused on his task. "Whatever happened to that old Ring of mine? I'd originally planned it as the final part of my speech, not that it really would have fit now since I'm not leaving permanently but . . . well, I was just wondering about it."

"It's gone, Bilbo," Thorin replied, turning to look at the hobbit, pleased to see that the strange light was absent, even if Bilbo was talking about the Ring again. "I told you. I sealed it in iron a buried it in a secret location.  It's safe."

"Good, good," Bilbo said a bit quickly. "As I said, it was just a passing thought. Are we ready?"

"Unless you'd rather wait until dawn," Thorin replied, shouldering his pack before helping Bilbo into his. If Bilbo noticed that it was lighter than it had been only a short time ago, he said nothing. And neither did Thorin. If Bilbo wasn't going to bring it up, then he didn't need to know that much of his equipment had found itself repacked in Thorin's bag. It wasn't worth the fight that would follow, even though they both knew that Bilbo was old and that hobbit's were not as sturdy as dwarves even in their prime.

  "Of course not!" Bilbo replied. "It will be much more difficult to get out of Hobbiton in the daylight. No, we'd best get started tonight." Thorin nodded and held the door to the bedroom open waving Bilbo through before him. As they moved towards the entrance, they heard the others saying their farewells to Frodo.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Lad?" Bofur was asking.

"Aye!" Dwalin added. "It feels wrong to leave you here alone on your birthday and we all know that your uncle won't stay a moment longer than he has to."

"It will be fine," Frodo promised. "I'm quite content to be left alone. I'm not a child."

"Not anymore," Bilbo said clapping his nephew on the shoulder with a fond smile.

"The two of you truly are too much alike," Gandalf added from outside the door, his staff in hand and his hat on his head. "I seem to recall Bilbo saying something similar about his contentment with solitude."

"I said nothing of the sort!" Bilbo protested. "No, instead I played the gracious host to a throng of dwarves who were not the best houseguests, let me tell you! So loud, and messy, and _demanding_! I swear they knew the contents of my larders better than I did, though to this day I do not know how."

"And yet, you decided to follow us loud, messy and demanding dwarves in a deadly quest," Balin said, his dark eyes twinkling. "Don't listen to a word he says, Frodo. It was the happiest day of his life when we knocked on his door."

"No, though it did lead to it," Bilbo replied with a fond smile. "I've never regretted my decision to come with you."

"Never?" Thorin asked skeptically. He could think of more than a few times Bilbo had lamented his loss of hearth and home.

"Only for very brief moments," Bilbo amended before stepping forward and grasping Balin's shoulders. "You lot will be safe, won't you?"

"Aye, laddie," Balin replied returning the gesture. "It's no us you need to be worried for."

"Don't worry for us," Bilbo said. "I'll make sure he makes it home in once piece this time."

"You do that, lad," Balin said softly. "I couldn't bear to see you so sad again."

"Well," Bilbo said pulling away and swallowing back his tears. "You lot better get going. It's a long way to Erebor and not long before winter will set in in the high mountains."

"Aye, we'd better," Bofur added clasping both Thorin and Bilbo on the shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll make good time. There's only three of us, after all."

"Go safely and return as soon as you may," Thorin added, looking at all of his kin. He hadn't thought their leaving would affect him so, but he'd grown quite used to their being there and he wasn't certain what Hobbiton would be like without their presence.

"Look for us mid to late-summer," Dwalin replied. "We won't leave you alone with these wooly-footed creatures longer than we have to." His harsh statement was made less so by his smile and ruffling of Frodo's hair.

"I await your return with bated breath," Thorin replied with a bit too much sincerity for Bilbo's tastes before clapping Dwalin's shoulder a bit harder than the hobbit though necessary and shoving his friend out the door. "Go. The sooner you leave the sooner you can rescue me from the excess of life in the Shire."

"Be careful with that," Balin called over his shoulder. "I would hate for you to be as round as Bombur the next time we see you."

"Now _that_ would be a sight," Bofur chortled. "And I'm sure that it will be a though I find comforting when our own rations grow thin. Thorin, sitting back warm and fat in Bag End while we freeze and starve in the wilds." Dwalin's snort was lost in the gate closing behind them as they made their way down the hill.

Thorin stood watching them for a moment before he let out a soft sigh. He jumped slightly as he felt a hand thread its way into his own. He looked down to see Bilbo smiling up at him.

"They'll be fine," he said.

"I know," Thorin replied. "Shall we follow their example?" Bilbo nodded and turned to Frodo.

"We'll be back," he promised. "A few weeks at the most. There's food in the pantry and money in—"

"—The chest under the floor of the cellar," Frodo finished. "I know. I'll be fine, Uncle. Go." Bilbo nodded before pulling Frodo into a hug and placing a kiss on his forehead. He didn't say it, but in that moment he was glad that his plans had changed. It would have hurt to never see the other hobbit again. After all, he was rather fond of the young hobbit."

"Be safe," Frodo said as they pulled apart. "I'll keep the house up and make sure that you don't come home to an auction this time."

"She wouldn't dare," Bilbo replied. "Not anymore."

"All the same, come back soon," Frodo said.

"We will, my lad," Bilbo promised a small smile on his face. "We will." With that, he turned and grabbed his favorite walking stick and walked out the door where he threaded his hand once more into Thorin's and they began walking out the gate and down the path.

"You didn't forget anything this time, did you?" Frodo heard Thorin ask.

"Of course not!" Bilbo replied indignantly. "And you knew that. It's not as if you didn't check my packing fifty times! Just what do you think I've forgotten?"

"So you have a handkerchief this time?" Thorin asked, his laughter clear in his words.

"Oh you!" Bilbo's tirade was nothing more than tone to Frodo as they were now too far for him to make out the words. Even so, his smile was a fond one as he closed the door and made his way back into Bag End. He sighed as he sank into his favorite armchair by the fireplace with a cup of tea and a book. Despite the fact that he was enjoying the silence that had come to be so scarce in Bag End, he couldn't help it that a small part of him missed the boisterousness of the dwarves. Nor could he help the fact that the same small part was already counting down the days until they would return once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, I'm back! School's out. Now, I have a question for you all. This almost feels like a good ending. At this point there are two things I can do: I can end this story here and start a new one from Thorin and Bilbo's trip to the Blue Mountains (which means to continue the tale you'll have to find a new fic) OR I can just keep adding to this one and turn it into a monster. I know that on AO3 it's not hard to create series and link them that way but ff.net is a bit more complicated. Which would you prefer? If no one votes I will just make the call. That said, thank you for sticking with me through the evils of college :)


	37. Dis

Thorin sighed as he stopped in front of the house he had shared with his sister and her sons. It looked much the same as it had the last time he'd seen it. True, the wooden door was beginning to weather and the door knob had seen better days, and the flowers his sister had so dutifully tended had fallen into disrepair, but the house itself; it looked the same. The warm light shining through the windows. How many times had he been overjoyed to see it, knowing that just inside a warm reception and a hot meal awaited him? How many times had he returned from his travels so weary he could barely stand only to  be ambushed the moment he stepped through the door by ecstatic dwarflings?

If he ignored the changes and the flowers he could almost pretend that this was nothing more than one of those trips and that he could swing open the door to Dís cooking or sewing by the fireplace and the lads launching themselves at him. But he couldn't. Not truly. There were no nephews to greet him. And he was responsible for it. He had no one to blame but himself for the fact that the one place in Middle Earth that he used to look forward to coming to was a refuge no longer.

 He jumped as a voice beside him spoke, pulling him back into reality asking, "Are you going to knock or shall I?" He turned sadly to the hobbit beside him. He knew that Bilbo thought he understood what this trip had cost him, but there was no way that he _could_ understand this. _He_ hadn't been responsible for the deaths of his sister's only children.

"I can't do this, Bilbo," Thorin said sadly, attempting to turn away from the home. "I cannot force her to see me. This was a mistake. We should return to the Shire. An emissary can come when it is time and request trade. Dís doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve to be ambushed at her own door by the dwarf who dares to call himself her brother."

"She doesn't deserve to be kept in the dark either. Knock or I will," Bilbo replied simply. "We did not come all this way just for you to refuse at the last moment."

"I attempted to turn back many times," Thorin said. "We never had to come all this way at all had you simply listened to me at the flooded stream."

"Flooded?!" Bilbo scoffed. "It wasn't even out of its banks! The ford barely came up to my thighs. There was no reason for us to turn back." Thorin had to admit that the hobbit had a point. The trip from the Shire to Ered Luin had been less than uneventful. All the same . . .

"Thorin," Bilbo sighed stepping forward and placing his hand on the dwarf's cheek, looking up at him with compassion burning in his hazel eyes.

"I understand," the hobbit said. "I do. I know you think I don't, but I do. It's better to explain things to her yourself rather than let another do it. You've hurt her. I won't even attempt to deny that, but that's why _you_ have to do this. It would be far crueler to allow an emissary to come, even one she knows, and explain to her that you've come back from the dead and are living in the Shire but haven't made the trip to come see her. Now, are you going to knock or shall I?"

With another sigh, Thorin pulled away from Bilbo's hand and strode towards the door. As he raised his hand to knock, he couldn't help but feel that he was tying his own noose to be hung by.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Dís sighed as she looked at her empty house. It had once been so full of life, so colorful and so noisy . . . but now it was quiet and empty. She supposed that it was appropriate. She had once been full of life too and now . . . she was the sole surviving member of a once proud line. A line doomed to end with her. It wasn’t her fault: not entirely. She had done her part. She had given the line of Durin two children: two _beautiful_ boys.

The oldest, with his golden hair, had looked so much like his father and her brother Frerin that it hurt her sometime to see him after their deaths. Though he had been more like his Uncle Thorin in personality. It had been her youngest, her sweet Kíli, that had inherited their gentler temperaments. He had been such a kind child, so considerate. She didn’t look in the mirror anymore because Kíli had been her image in male form and seeing herself reminded her anew that she would never see her child again. In fact, she didn’t even have mirrors anymore. Not that it mattered.

She didn’t bother to take the time to braid her hair anymore either. As a dwarf in mourning she was not required to. She did still care for it, but braiding . . .  it brought too many memories of all the times that she had done her sons’ hair for them when they were small. And of the last time that she had seen them. Just before they had left with their uncle to go questing, even though they had both been taking care of their own hair for years, they sat in front of her, her precious children, and allowed her to arrange their hair for them. Even Kíli, who never took the time to braid his own hair had given into the whim of his mother and allowed her to do it.

That had been her farewell to them. Even though she knew that she may never see them again, she did not beg them not to go or cry. Instead she stood proudly at the door and watched them walk away with their uncle content in the knowledge that all three of them would protect each other and would bring honor to the line of Durin and regain their ancestral home. If she had it to do over, she would have at least told her sons that she loved them before she allowed them to leave.

At the time, she had worried about shaming them with her words. They were warriors. Proud dwarves nearly fully grown. They did not need their mother to coddle them upon their departure. Now . . . now she couldn’t care less about pride or honor. Those were empty words. She had honor that few dwarven women could ever lay claim to. While she lived, she was allowed to rule Ered Luin in their stead and she would be remembered in the genealogies for the heroic deaths of her sons.

 _The mother of Fíli and Kíli. The great warriors who defended their king to their dying breaths and made possible the return of Erebor,_ she thought bitterly. _What good does it do me now? Will honor mourn me once I am dead? Will honor bring back my sons? No. It is useless._

Everyone that met her spoke to her of the honor that had been brought to her and the house of Durin through the sacrifice of her sons and her brother but none of them understood. Yes, they had recaptured Erebor, but the cost had been too great. She wondered, not for the first time, what mistake she had made that the Vallar decided that she should be the only one to lose something for the gain of her people.  Others had been injured and had lost time with their loved ones, others had died for it: that was true enough. But Dís, she had given up _everything_ she loved for that damned mountain.

She wished that when her brother had come to her she would have tried to discourage him but no. She had goaded him on, the desire to reclaim the home that she barely remembered burning as fiercely in her own veins as it had in his eyes. She had offered no protest when he had asked to take Fíli with him. She knew that her son, if he ever wanted to rule, _needed_ to have a hand in reclaiming his future throne. In fact, she had been the one that insisted that Thorin take Kíli as well. She knew that he would hate to be left behind and that he deserved to have the same respect that his brother would once they succeeded. She knew her brother and knew that for Thorin failure had never been an option. He would retake the mountain if he had to kill Smaug with the dragon’s own claw.

Her brother had not wanted to take her youngest. But she had been stubborn, a dwarf woman, and princess of the line of Durin, through-and-through.

_“If you want Fíli,” she had said staring her brother down, “you will take Kíli with you as well.”_

_Thorin had sighed before he looked at her with sad eyes. He said nothing, but his expression was strangely defeated as he nodded his consent._

She wished now that she would not have pressed him. If she hadn’t . . . well . . . even though she would have lost the other two she would still have Kíli. She knew now that was the reason Thorin had been reluctant to take her youngest. It hadn't been Kíli's age. He'd _known_. He _knew_ that the quest was likely to end in death and wanted to spare her the loss of all three of them. But she had been stubborn. So stubborn. She was as much to blame for their death as the orcs that had slain them. That thought had tortured her for sixty years. She had led to the death of her brother and her sons. If only she had said no, maybe they would all still be alive. Maybe she would still have a reason to go on. The only reason she was still alive was because she knew that ending her own life would bring shame to them and even through honor was an empty comfort, she could not take that from her kin through her own weakness. So she lived and waited for the end when she could be with them once more.

She looked up at a knock on her door. She sighed before getting up to answer it. She had no idea who would have come to see her, especially at so late an hour, as most of the dwarves had moved to Erebor. She hadn’t been able to go. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the tombs of her sons or the place they had fallen so she had remained in the Blue Mountains  and those that remained with her knew better than to disturb her at home unless it was urgent and that knock had sounded anything but.

Drawing her cloak more tightly around herself she opened the door and saw Thorin standing there, sadness in his blue eyes as he looked on her. She laughed—a sound that was more a sob than anything else—and made to close the door. She knew that thinking of them so much had been a bad idea. It had brought forth hallucinations. How many times had she heard a knock at the door only to open it and find no one there? The visual hallucination was a new thing, but not entirely unexpected, just cruel of her mind to force her to endure seeing her brother’s form again.

Only the door wouldn’t close. A foot was between it and the post and had stopped its progress. Dís stared at the foot in confusion. Hallucinations didn’t have solid feet. She felt her eyes widen as she looked back up into the unchanged face of her brother who had died sixty years before.

“Thorin?” she asked, her voice harsh from disuse.

“Dís,” he said nodding his head to her, his eyes gentle and sad. A look she hadn’t seen in them since before their father had gone missing. She laughed again at his voice— such a familiar sound!— and felt tears of joy begin to fall. If he was back . . . that meant that . . . Fíli and Kíli . . . they were back too!

“Thorin!” she cried throwing herself into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her and placed his cheek against the top of her head. She buried her face in his chest enjoying the warm solid feel of him. He smelled of travel and not like the forge as he had the last time she had hugged him, but it was her brother. She wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

She pulled back from him, a smile on her face for the first time since she had gotten the news of their deaths. She looked around him desperately searching for her sons. They were not there. There was someone else with Thorin, but the cloaked shape was too small to be one of her sons.

“Where are they?” she asked looking into his face once more. “Fíli? Kíli? Where are my sons? Brother?” Thorin sighed. He had known that through coming he would only cause her more pain. But he couldn’t bear to let her hear the news from someone else—Bilbo had been right about just how cruel such a thing would be—and the new settlement would need the trade from the Blue Mountains. He hadn’t had a choice.

“Dís,” he began trying to find the right words to tell his sister that her sons were not with him. At her name she looked at him as though he had slapped her and her jaw began to quiver.

“Where are they?” she demanded fighting tears that she hadn’t known that she still had to shed. She knew from the way her brother was behaving what his answer would be. Thorin was not gentle and he did not pull punches when it came to harsh realities. His delecate behavior told her that her sons were not with him, but she needed to hear it from him. He _would_ say the words. He owed her that much at the very least.

“They’re not here, Dís,” Thorin said sadly knowing that without him having to say it directly she would know that his words meant that her sons were not alive.

“What do you mean? They have to be with you,” she snapped harshly. “They left with you. You _promised_ me that you would bring them back to me! Here you are. Now where are they?”

“If you will let us in, I will try to explain,” Throin said trying to calm his sister who looked like she was about to break something or send him back to the afterlife herself. He hadn’t forgotten about Dís’ temper and he knew that he deserved whatever she decided to do to him for what he had done to her. He only hoped that she would listen to his explanation before she decided to kill him.  

“No,” she said blocking the doorway and glaring at her brother fiercely. “You will tell me where my sons are, Thorin Oakenshield, or you _will not_ take _one_ step into _my_ house.”

“Are you truly going to make me say it, Dís?” Thorin asked sadly. “Do you need to hear it from me as well?” When she continued to glare at him but said nothing he sighed. “They’re in the vaults of Erebor. They’re not coming back, Dís. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“But you’re back,” Dís said desperately her brown eyes wide as she held desperately to hope. “They could be coming back as well.” Thorin shook his head. He understood her desperation, but it was not going to happen. “You don’t know that. You _can’t_ know that.”

“I do, Dís,” Thorin replied. “If you will let us in, I will try to explain it. Please, Sister?” Though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she moved aside and allowed her brother and his companion into her home. She didn’t know what explanation he could offer, but she knew that it had better be a good one. He had better have a _damn_ good explanation for coming to her without her sons—regardless of how he was there in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright all, I'm back with a new chapter. And, as you can see, votes are in and there was a majority that just want to turn this thing into an epic monster (18 people voted here and on ff.net; 10 people (56%) wanted to continue adding to this one, 5 people (28%) wanted a new story, and 3 people (16%) just wanted more regardless of format) so here we are. The long awaited reunion. I hope you enjoyed it, or at least the start of it.


	38. What Happened

Once they were inside and seated around her table Dís looked at her brother. When she spoke, her voice was hard, direct, cold. She wanted answers and she _would_ get them, even if she had to wring them from his body herself.

“What happened?” she asked. She knew that it was a question she did not want the answer to, but she felt that she had to ask it. She _needed_ to hear her brother’s account of how her boys had died. No one would tell her anything. Only that they had fought bravely and died. He owed her that much for leading them to their deaths.

“After I died—“ Thorin began slowly his quiet voice filled with pain.

“No,” Dís cut him off harshly, slamming her fist on the table and causing both him and his companion to flinch. “Not after. _Before._ What.  Happened. To my sons?”

“Dís . . .”

“Tell me,” she demanded just barely resisting the urge to grab him and shake him until he spoke. The pity and horror in his eyes only fanned her furry. He didn't have the _right_ to pity her. Not when all of this was his fault to begin with. She knew it was his fault, even if no one had ever said so, and she wanted to hear him say it.

He sighed and searched her face, seeing her determination, before he took a deep breath and began to speak, keeping his eyes locked on hers the entire time. “There was a battle,” he began slowly. He figured that she knew this much, but felt he should start at the beginning. “It began as us, Dáin and his forces, the Elves of Mirkwood and the men of Esgaroth against the Wargs and Goblins and Orcs from the Misty Mountains. Even united we were horribly outnumbered. Yet, we fought. We slew many enemies but for every one that we cut down there were three to take its place. As we tired, they had fresh forces to replenish their lines. Eventually we were divided and the groups were surrounded.

“I was wounded, mortally so. And the boys . . . the boys tried to keep the Goblins from finishing me off then and there. They were glorious in battle, Sister. Ferocious and deadly. Our father would have been proud of his grandsons. But it was too much. The goblins and orcs were too many . . . and . . . “

“And what, _Brother_?” she demined her voice hard, the familiar term almost an insult as though she was taunting him with his failure. “What happened next?” Thorin closed his eyes at the memory and saw again his nephews falling in battle. He remembered clearly their cries of anguish as they were wounded and the way they had died so suddenly; young, vibrant lives snuffed out before their time. Surprise on their unlined faces as though they had never expected it to happen to them. He had been spared seeing Kíli in pain—he had died before he had hit the ground, the sword miraculously piercing his heart, confusion in his still-open brown eyes—but Fíli . . .  Fíli had survived long enough to die in Thorin’s arms after he had been moved into the ring of guards.

They had brought him there to try to save him, but it had been useless. He could still feel the way Fíli’s limbs had shook and the way his breath had rattled in his chest. He could still see how blood had bubbled from his mouth showing that his lung had been pierced. He had known then that his nephew was not long for this world.

**ooOO88OOoo**

_“Kíli?” the lad had asked, his voice weak and filled with pain and so quiet that Thorin could barely hear him over the battle still raging around them but he hadn't needed to hear. There was only one thing that Fíli would worry about this close to the end._

_“He’s still fighting,” Thorin had lied, unable to tell him that his brother was dead. Fíli had nodded and coughed: a horrible wet cough that left blood on his lips and his hands. Thorin remembered flinching at the sound, knowing that it meant there was too little time left for his beloved nephew._

_“You’ll see him soon,” Thorin promised trying to keep his own anguish from the words by focusing on the fact that he spoke the truth. Fíli would soon be reunited with Kíli in the Halls. Fíli nodded, but it was clear that he didn’t believe his uncle. He had known that he was dying and if his uncle had spoken truly, Kíli still lived. It would be some time before they saw one another again._

_“Tell him . . . “Fíli said, pausing to cough again. His breathing was becoming more labored and he was beginning to shake more viciously despite Thorin’s tightened hold on him. “Tell him . . . that I love him . . . and I-I’m . . . I’m sorry that I couldn’t . . . couldn’t keep my promise.”_

_“I’ll tell him,” Thorin said fighting back tears and brushing Fíli’s golden hair from his pale face attempting to ignore the bright blood on his beloved nephew's lips and marring the braids of his mustache. Fíli smiled weakly before he curled in on himself with a small sob. His shaking was beginning to still and his coughs were becoming more pathetic. Thorin knew that the end was finally here. His eldest nephew was dying. He continued his petting of the boy’s hair in an attempt to ease his passing, resting Fíli’s head against his chest despite the pain it caused him from his own wounds._

_“And my mother. . . “ Fíli said weakly, his eyelids beginning to droop and his head falling forward. “Tell her . . . tell her. . .” Thorin never found out what Fíli had wanted him to tell Dís. Fíli had died before he could finish his last request. Thorin had sat there, cradling his dead nephew, stroking Fíli’s golden hair and allowing the tears to fall for what he had done. It was his fault._

_Thorin had looked up as the ring of guards failed and the goblins began to flow into the circle. He tried to lift his sword, but he had already lost too much blood and he was too weak. All he remembered next was pain and an earth-shuddering roar._

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin came back to the present. He could not tell his sister that her eldest had suffered or how her favorite had fallen. He would not burden her with the details. They had died because of him and the memories were his alone to bear. No one else needed to endure the pain of their last moments.

“They died valiantly,” Thorin said his voice a choked whisper as he placed his hand on hers. “They went down fighting. They were very brave, Dís. So brave.”

“Do _not_ speak to me of bravery!” she roared pulling her hands away from him and shooting to her feet to tower over him as she glowered. “I don’t care if they died charging a hundred enemies alone of fleeing from them. They are still dead! How they died doesn’t matter.”

“Would it help you to know that they died quickly and did not suffer overmuch?” Thorin asked his voice choked with emotion as the memory of his nephews falling in his defense flashed before his eyes once more.

“Neither of them suffered,” he lied. “I saw it. They were dead before they hit the ground. Kíli went first. He still had a smile on his face.” Thorin paused to give a bitter laugh. “The lad never knew that he was dying until it was done. Fíli never even knew that his brother had died before death claimed him as well. They _did not_ suffer, Dís.”

“And you?” Dís demanded. “Did you suffer?” She wasn’t sure what answer she wanted from her brother. While part of her wanted him to say he had, she  knew it would only make her heart ache to know that he did. She had never before heard _how_ her sons had died, only that they had been involved in battle and had not survived. And while it did help to know that they didn’t suffer, it did little to ease her feelings of anger at her brother and to fill the hole left by their loss.

“I managed to cling to life for three days,” Thorin said tonelessly. “It was the worst three days of my life. I was in pain both physically and emotionally. If I could have done _anything_ , given anything, to bring them back or to have kept them from dying in the first place, I would have. I died _hating_ myself.”

“And yet  here you are,” Dis snarled her voice deceptively quiet. “How?” Thorin sighed before he told her of the deal he had made with the Valar. He noticed that as he spoke her eyes grew harder and her jaw began to tighten to the point that he was worried that she would break her teeth.

“And you couldn’t have bargained for my sons as well?” she demanded anger and betrayal and murder flashing in her brown eyes. For the first time Thorin realized that had probably been what Bilbo had seen that ill-fated night with the Arkenstone. He had never feared his sister before but she was deranged at the moment and even though he knew that he could take her in a fight if he had to, he did not want it to come to that. Besides, he deserved any punishment she decided to inflict on him for taking her sons.

“Did you even try?” she demanded.

“Of course I did!” Thorin snapped angered that she could even think such a thing of him. He was guilty of many things, but to not try to bring the lads back . . .  his family was important to him and he would never have given up on them without at least trying once. “I loved those lads like they were my own and you _know_ that. Don't you _dare_ claim otherwise! I would have brought them back with me had there have been any way.”

“Of course there was a way!” Dís snarled. She knew that what she was about to say was unfair, but she did not care. At the moment she was more a hurt mother than a beloved sister. “You didn’t try. Admit it!”

“I tried,” Thorin said shaking his head sadly. “I tried, Dís. I _begged_. I offered them anything they could want if they would bring the boys back with me. I _pleaded_ with them, even offered myself in exchange for them.”

“Then why aren’t they here?” she demanded her voice wavering as she glared at her brother.

“Because they’re at peace, Dís,” Thorin replied, tears stinging his eyes. “Despite the violence of their deaths they found peace. Would you have had me take that from them for our sake?” She didn’t answer, but there was no need for her to. They both knew what her answer would be.

“They’re at peace?” she breathed. The anger in her eyes had been replaced by hope. That thought, that her boys were content, cheered her mind more than the fact that their deaths had been noble and quick.

Thorin nodded. “They’re at peace,” he repeated. It was then that Dís began to cry in earnest. As hard as it was to know that her boys weren’t coming back, it helped to know that they were happy. This time when Thorin reached for her, she allowed her brother to pull her into his arms. For the first time in sixty years she was content. Even though she felt guilty for taking satisfaction in the fact that her brother was back while her children were still dead, she was content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's been so long! I've been exceptionally busy lately. But on the positive side, I am now the proud mother of a beautiful (yes, I know I'm probably biased) six week old baby girl, I've graduated from school for the last time for a while, I've passed the NCLEX and now have an RN licence and have moved halfway across the state. So now that most of that is out of the way (as the baby's not going anywhere) I should have a bit more time. 
> 
> And, yes, that was one giant excuse :)


	39. Chapter 39

He'd only been able to pick up a few words in the conversation, as it hadn't been done in Common, but he'd gathered enough to realize that Thorin was forgiven. So, as Bilbo watched the siblings embrace, he couldn't help but smile. He'd never seen his lover embrace someone who wasn't him and couldn't help but wonder if Thorin had ever hugged his nephews. He knew that it was an odd thought to have at such a moment but he could almost see why it had come to him. When the door had opened, even though he'd known better, for half a moment he'd almost believed that Kíli had opened the door.

Thorin's sister had the same brown eyes that her youngest had had, though her beard—she had a beard! Bilbo'd always thought the dwarves were having one over on him about their women being bearded but she had a beard!—was thicker than her son's had been it was the same color, as was her hair which she wore unbound about her shoulders. But other than physically, she bore little resemblance to either of her children, merry pranksters the both of them. Though Bilbo could not fault her for that. With all that she had lost he could understand her more reserved nature, though even now he could see the remnants of laugh lines around her eyes. But he supposed it made sense; she must have been merry once, after all, he knew the lads hadn't developed their mischief from emulating their uncle.

Eventually the siblings parted, Dís surreptitiously wiping her eyes on her sleeve before turning towards Bilbo.  

"Who's this then?" she asked, her voice a deeper tenor than Bilbo's own, even if he could not understand the words he understood her tone, the gentle chiding and welcome in it. "I swear, Thorin, you have no manners. Bringing someone into my home and not bothering to introduce them." It was clear to them all that it was her attempt to change the subject and they were all more than happy to allow it.

"This, Dís, is the renowned Bilbo Baggins," Thorin said, smiling warmly at his lover. Whatever effect he'd expected his words to have, the reaction he received wasn't it.

"Bilbo Baggins?" Dís said, her brows drawing together in confusion. "That's not a very dwarvish name. Was your friend raised with Men?"

"My friend is no dwarf, Dear Sister, but a hobbit," Thorin said gently.

"Thorin!' Dís nearly screeched, scandalized beyond propriety by what had just happened. She'd suspected that their visitor wasn't a dwarf just by the size of them but when Thorin had begun speaking their language she'd assumed that it was just a very short dwarf, a youngling perhaps. "A hobbit? You brought a hobbit into my home and then proceeded to speak to me in Khuzdul?! You knowingly allowed an outsider to hear our sacred language."

"He's no mere hobbit, Dís," Thorin countered. "He's my mate. Wedded under the law and in the Eyes of Mahal."

"Wedded?!" she breathed, her outrage disappearing in a flash at this newest revelation. "You married? When? Why wasn't I informed you'd taken a mate?!"

"You were never told?" Thorin asked. "I specifically asked Balin to tell you. Before I died I asked that you be told so that perhaps the two of you could seek solace together." _If either of you mourned me,_ he added silently.

"He never told me," she said softly. "But don't be cross with him. I . . . I never let him. I didn't want to know anything about what happened on that damned quest. Not once I'd learned you'd all died. That was all I wanted to know about and none wanted to tell me of that."

"So you never knew of our hobbit burglar?" Thorin asked, attempting to discern just where they needed to begin and keeping to himself the fact that he agreed with those who had refused to tell her of their deaths. In his mind she already knew more than she needed to on the matter.

"Hobbit burglar?" she asked with a laugh. "No. I've never. I thought you went to their land to supply as they have ample produce at reasonable prices."

"Then it seems we must begin at the beginning," Thorin sighed before turning to Bilbo and shifting once more into Westron. "It seems my sister does not know about your involvement in the quest, Bilbo. In fact, she knows nothing of the quest itself. What do you say to regaling her with the tale."

"I suppose I could be persuaded," Bilbo replied, pushing back his hood and smiling at Thorin. At the same time giving Dís her first view of a hobbit.  He was perhaps the strangest thing she'd ever seen. By his lack of a beard and short stature she would take him for a child, if not for the fact that her brother said he'd gone on the quest. Though she tried not to stare overmuch, when she saw pointed ears peeking around her brother's courting braid in his hair she couldn't help herself. The hobbit, however, didn't seem to mind her scrutiny and offered her a small smile and a deep bow.

"It is a true pleasure to meet you, Lady Dís," he said as he rose. "You kin speak quite highly of you. I . . . I'm dreadfully sorry for your loss. If I could have—"

"Stop," she replied, feeling tears attempting to fill her eyes once more. "Let's not talk of sad things tonight. I would not have our first meeting as kin marred. Come, sit. I'll draw some ales and then you can tell me how you managed to win the heart of my brother."

"As you wish," Bilbo agreed, moving to sit beside Thorin. He wasn't the least bit surprised when he felt himself pulled against Thorin's chest and felt his lover burry his nose in the top of his hair. While he hadn't understood much of the conversation he had picked up a few words he knew. He'd heard 'Erebor', 'Dáin', 'Fíli', 'Kili' and the words for 'pain' and 'death' more times than he cared to count. Even without understanding what had been said, Thorin's tone would have been enough to tell him what had been discussed.

He hummed slightly before threading the fingers of his left hand into Thorin's where it lay across his stomach and brought his right up to tangle in his dark hair, attempting to offer what little comfort he could in the face of such pain.

"They knew you loved them," he promised in a whisper, knowing the fear that tended to haunt Thorin's mind whenever his nephews were brought up. "I swear to you that they knew." There was no reply but Thorin's sharp inhale and the way his hand tightened around Bilbo's fingers were as good as one.

"So," Dís called from the kitchen, breaking Bilbo out of his silence and causing him to focus on her voice, the words carrying even more of the accent he'd come to associate with dwarves than her male counterparts' did, "how did you meet my brother? I know they passed through the Shire but from what I know of your race, and you will have to forgive me if I am mistaken as I know very little, none of you would willingly volunteer for a quest and I know my brother would not force a unwilling participant on such a thing. Especially not one so young. You couldn't have been more than a child when you left. How long do your people live on average."

"We average a hundred years, My Lady," he called back.

"Dís is fine," she said coming back into the room and setting a tankard of ale before him before handing one to her brother. "A hundred? Is that all? How old were you when they left? You couldn't have been more than twenty. Thorin! Did you take a _child_?"

"I was no child," Bilbo cut in to her rant, feeling slightly affronted for his lover that Dís thought Thorin had taken any form of advantage of him. "I was fifty. A middle-aged, reclusive bachelor."

"That was sixty years ago," Dís replied. "You can't be more than eighty now. Especially not if your race only lives a hundred years."

"I'll have you know that I'm eleventy-one," Bilbo declared proudly.

"But how—"

"That is a story for another time, Dís," Thorin cut in not wanting to get into the matter of the Ring at the moment. Not when his memories of his nephews' deaths were so near. Not with what the Ring had said about his part in them.

Though she still wanted to know how a hobbit had lived eleven years past his alloted life-span and still maintained the appearance of youth and vitality, something in her brother's tone spoke to her and she allowed the matter to pass.

"So, Bilbo," she began, "how did my brother persuade you to accompany a group of dwarves to face down a dragon for a mountain of gold? I hear that your people have little use for metals, or anything outside your lands for that matter."

"You've heard correctly, My—Dís," he amended at her sharp glare. He hid a smile as he wondered if it was something the siblings had inherited with their royal blood or if one of their parents had perfected that glare and they were merely emulating them. Filing it away to ask Thorin later—or perhaps Balin—he continued.

"Hobbits, as a rule, desire to have nothing to do with adventures," he continued. "In fact, we view them as dreadful things that serve no purpose but to make one late for supper."

"Then what made you different?" she gently asked.

"Nothing," Bilbo replied with a laugh and a shrug. "That was my view of the dratted things up to and including the moment a wizard invited himself, and thirteen unannounced dwarves, for supper." And with that, he proceeded to tell her of how her kin had behaved in his home that first night, for which she chastised her brother for permitting, and continued on to tell her the abridged version of the quest that he told the little hobbitlings—leaving out the times they (especially her sons) nearly died or experienced any form of mortal injury save for the suicidal decision Thorin had had to attack the Pale Orc, which he only left in because it was critical to explaining their own tale. He spoke long into the night and before the tale was done, his voice rasped in his throat despite the copious amounts of ale Dís offered him. He faithfully recounted the talk up to the point where he reached his theft of the Arkenstone and the events that followed. It was there that he found he could not go on.

"I apologize," he said softly as the emotions of that time washed over him once more, fresh from delving into memories for the retelling. "What came next I have no desire to tell. It is not truly pertinent in detailing my part in the quest, which was what I was asked to do."

"Is it the battle that claimed my sons?" Dís asked softly, some masochistic part of her hoping that if it was he could be persuaded to tell her his take on the events that had passed, if only to check the veracity of her brother's word. Dís was no fool and knew that Thorin had kept something from her, even if she was not sure what his lie had been.

"No," Thorin growled out before his mate could answer. "It was my greatest failing as a mate. I thank the Maker every day that Bilbo will still speak to me after what I did. He would be well within his rights to demand my life for such a slight."

"Nonsense," Bilbo scoffed. "We've both been equally cruel to one another at times. Besides, I was as much to blame for that as you were."

"Do one of you intend to tell me what happened?" Dís asked, smiling despite herself to see her brother in such a happy union—as it was apparent to her that he was even if they were squabbling at the moment.

"I tried to murder him," Thorin said matter-of-factly.

"Only because I _stole_ the Arkenstone from you," Bilbo cut in.

"Wait, what?!" Dís asked, disbelief in her tone. Surely that was an untruth. There was no way that any half-sensible being would be sitting calmly next to someone who had attempted to take their life, or a dwarf next to one who had robbed him.

"It is a long tale, Dís," Thorin sighed. "How much do you remember of our grandfather?"

"Do you mean the gold-sickness?" She asked softly. She'd heard it whispered more than once that her brother had succumbed to the curse of their line but she had never believed it. She'd heard that he had become so obsessed with gold that he had cared not for kin or friend, but she'd also heard that he had valiantly stood against those that would do him wrong and defended their kingdom against the advancing armies of the men and elves. This last had been said more frequently and more loudly, but she'd heard both.

"Nothing else," he sighed. "I .. . I cannot explain why it happened but when I saw the gold it was all that I could think about. And then the men came with the elves . . . they wanted to negotiate but I wouldn't hear it. Bilbo realized that a siege would kill us all and took the Arkenstone to them to force me to negotiate and I . . ." Thorin stopped and leaned his head against the back of the chair, open eyes staring at the ceiling.

"It doesn't need to be said," Bilbo cut in. "Suffice it to say we had a rather public falling out that ended in my removal from the mountain by royal decree. It is all in the past now and we have resolved that issue. Need we say any more on the matter?"

"Of course not," Dís replied seeing the discomfort the subject caused them both. "In fact, I believe there has been more than enough said for one night. Come, I will show you to a room." As they both stood and followed her down the hall to Thorin's old room, the poor dwarf felt yet another twinge of remorse as they passed the door that had once belonged to Fíli and Kíli. Though he knew he shouldn't,  he couldn't stop himself from pausing before their door. For half a moment he imagined that if he opened the door he would find them lying in their bed, protesting that it was too early to be rising. His hand was even extended towards the knob before he stopped it and pulled it back to his side.

It was only when he looked up at his sister and saw the knowing sadness in her eyes that he realized she must have done the same thing countless times.

"It's mostly as you left it," she said quietly, looking at the floor in front of his open door. "The linens have been changed and your clothes are gone but . . ." he was shocked as she trailed off before throwing herself at him once more, her embrace nearly crushing the air from his lungs.

"I'm so glad you're back," she breathed. "You don't know how I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Dís," Thorin replied. "I'm so sorry, Sister." She said nothing but held him a moment longer before releasing him and nudging him towards the door.

"I'll see you in the morning?" she asked.

"I promise," Thorin replied before closing the door and climbing into bed. He smiled as Bilbo laid beside him and wrapped his arms around him.

"I told you it wouldn't be that bad," the hobbit muttered against his chest. "She didn't even break out the ax." Thorin's only response was a quiet chuckle. He didn't tell Bilbo but he was only hoping that as her joy at seeing him faded she didn't have a change of heart where the ax was concerned.  Before he closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take him, he turned that hope into a prayer.  


	40. Chapter 40

Dís awoke the next morning knowing that everything she remembered from the night before had been nothing but a dream. She shook her head as she dressed for the day, astounded by just how _real_ the night before had felt. She could almost imagine that the smell of her brother still clung to her clothes. Even in her own mind it sounded foolish, her sixty-year-dead brother visiting her in the night.

Knowing she was only torturing herself but needing to be certain, she opened the door to Thorin's old room. Just as she'd anticipated, the room was just as it had been for the last sixty years. There was no long dead brother and his _hobbit_ lover bedded down together. Shescoffed at the idea of _Thorin,_ of all dwarves, finding love, let alone seeking a partner outside their own people. If ever a dwarf had been too devoted to his craft for a mate, it had been Thorin wedded to the memory of Erebor. Thorin mated and to a _hobbit,_ no less! The idea was absurd.

 

She was still marveling at the creativity of her subconscious as she walked into her kitchen, where her brother and his hobbit were sitting at her little table, eating breakfast. She stopped in the doorway and couldn't resist the sudden urge to pinch herself. The small pain that followed was proof enough that she was not dreaming even if it spoke nothing on her sanity. But Dís found she couldn't care less is she was still sane. The sight before her with such a homey one, so comfortable and full of warmth, that if this was madness she would gladly take it over the grim loneliness that had been her reality for so long now.

 

She was only in the door for a moment before the hobbit--there was a hobbit in her home!--saw her. It was strange to see a stranger smile at her and look so sincere about it that she found she had no choice but to offer him a small smile in return, no matter how foreign the expression felt. Idle, she wondered just how long it had been since she'd smiled.

 

"Ah, Dís, come, sit," he said taking her arm gently and leading her to her own table, seating her across from her brother before bustling off to her cabinets. She raised an eyebrow at Thorin, silently asking not only how Bilbo was so knowledgeable about her larders but also if she should assist him. A gentle shake of his head and an indulgent smile was the only reply she received before Thorin's face took on a more morose expression.

 

In the light of day, the changes years and grief had made to his sister were heart-breakingly clear. Hair that had been dark and sleek the last time he'd seen it now lay unkept in grey waves around her face, which had far more lines than he'd expected. Unlike with Bilbo, time had not passed and left her untouched in its wake.  With Bilbo, other than the age in his eyes, it was easy to forget that he wasn't the fifty-year-old hobbit who'd run out of his home complaining of forgotten handkerchiefs. With Dís . . .every single day had etched itself into her flesh. It broke Thorin's heart to see just how much time they'd lost together due to his foolish arrogance.

 

"You've aged, Sister," he muttered, stroking the side of her face with the back of his hand before grasping a grey chunk beside her face.

 

"You haven't," she replied, taking his hand in hers and moving it back to her cheek, the familiar calluses scraping the skin there as another tear escaping from her eye as she continued, "if it wasn't for your hobbit, why I'd almost believe the past sixty years were nothing more than a nightmare."

 

"I would that they were," Thorin sighed. "Tell me, how've you been?" She sighed, looking away. Wasn't the answer to that question clear? It was obvious to her that she hadn't coped well, couldn't Thorin see it without her having to admit she'd fallen apart without them? She looked at him sadly, prepared to tell him the truth when she was spared, for the time being, by a full plate being placed before her. The food was beautiful, both to the eye and the nose, and left her wondering not only how he'd made it from the paltry supplies she kept on hand--anymore, food was a necessary chore, not a labor of love--and when he'd had time to do it.

 

"How?" She finally managed to ask, tearing her eyes away long enough to look between her brother and his hobbit.

 

"Hobbits," Thorin replied with a shrug. "Food is to them what gold is to us."

 

"I daresay not!" Bilbo cut in indignantly. "No hobbit would go to war over food."

 

"Not even for your mother's raspberry tart recipe?" Thorin asked with a smirk. "I seem to recall a certain tale about your mother marching across the Shire to . . . wallop, was it? Some relation of yours--a cousin of some sort--with an umbrella when she found it missing."

 

"That was different," Bilbo defended, his ears bright red with embarrassment, not for his mother's actions, but because Thorin--though he'd given no appearance of listening at the time--had apparently heard what he'd said in an attempt to convince the others that hobbits could be ferocious when riled. He was blushing because he'd once thought that to be fearsome. Now he knew better, regrettably.

 

"I fail to see how," Thorin smirked. Dís simply watched their bickering in amazement. She couldn't ever recall her brother behaving in such an easy fashion with anyone. Why, he'd used an average week's -worth of smiles at breakfast alone. As he laughed at Bilbo before pulling the hobbit onto the bench beside him, she felt her breath catch in her throat.

 

"Dís?" Thorin asked, his expression sobering once more, but the traces of his laughter still in his blue eyes.

 

"It's nothing," she replied waving down his concern. "I'm just . . . I'm so glad you're home. Even if . . . I missed you."

 

"And I you," Thorin said, his face soft. Suddenly he cleared his throat. "Eat, Dís. Those hot cakes are no good if they get cold." She smiled sadly at him before doing as he'd suggested. At the first bite her eyes went wide. In all her life she'd never tasted anything like it, sweet and rich while at the same time light as goose down. She looked at Bilbo in speculation, recalling the story she'd just heard in part.

 

"Don't suppose you'd be willing to part with this recipe, would you? " she asked, her tone wry.

 

"I'll write it down for you," Bilbo replied. "After breakfast, of course."

 

"First or second?" Thorin cut in.

 

"Oh hush, you," Bilbo waved off his comment. "First, if you _must_ know," he continued at Thorin's smirk.

 

"Worried you'll forget to do it if you put it off?" Thorin teased.

 

"Now you listen to me, Thorin Oakenshield," Bilbo replied, his words harsh but his eyes alight with amusement, "I may be older than I once was, but my mind is still as sharp as ever it was."

 

"Then I'll will only hope to dodge your wit lest I be bludgeoned by it," Thorin drawled, inspecting his fingernails as though he was uninterested in the conversation. It was then that Dís decided to intercede, breakfast really was too early for bloodshed. Not that she truly thought it would come to that, they were both clearly teasing, but that could rapidly change given her brother's temper and the fire even she could see in the hobbit.

 

"You would part with your family recipe?" She asked, distracting the hobbit from replying to Thorin's taunt. "I thought you guarded them jealously."

 

"We do," he agreed. "But, Dís, you _are_ family." While she gaped at him he turned right back to Thorin and continued their bickering. She shook her head fondly, wondering if all hobbits were so strangely welcoming or if her brother had found a gem in a coal mine.

 

**ooOOoo**

 

Frodo sighed as he sank once more into his favorite chair beside the open window overlooking the garden. It had only been a week since Bilbo, Thorin and the rest had left, but already he grew weary of the quiet. As noisy and crowded as Bag End had seemed with four dwarves and two hobbits, and as much as he would have told anyone who'd bothered to ask that he couldn't wait for things to settle back to normal, he found that he missed their constant chatter and was eager for their return. He was just thinking that he would even welcome Lobelia, and all the chaos that followed in her wake, as a distraction when there was a knock on the door.

 

Wondering if thinking her name had been enough to summon her,  Frodo stood and, reluctantly, answered the door. But it was not Lobelia on the other side. Rather a thin young hobbit-lass that, judging by the way her dress hung, was in quite a state.

 

"Can I help you?" Frodo asked, unsure why she was there but unwilling to be rude and demand she state her business before he knew rudeness was called for.

 

"Depends," she replied, not looking up from her feet. "Are you Master Baggins?"

 

"One of," he said with a shrug. "Are you looking for Frodo or Bilbo Baggins?"

 

"Begging your pardon, sir, but I'm not sure," she whispered. "The only other name I know him by is . . . well, I've heard him called "Mad Baggins" seeing as he went off on that _adventure_ and apparently, if the gossips are right, bedded himself a dwarf king."

 

"For once the gossips are right," Frodo laughed, knowing that Bilbo himself was amused by the title and rumors saying they helped keep out the more unsavory sorts. "It's my uncle, Bilbo, that you're looking for. But I'm afraid he's not here. Can I take a message?"

 

"'Fraid not," she said shaking her head. "See, I really need to speak with him. And his dwarf, if he'll meet with me. When will they return?"

 

"I'm not sure," he said. "They left to visit Thorin's sister. But they plan to be back before--" he stopped speaking suddenly as he realized what was going on. Why else would a pregnant hobbit be on his doorstep asking for Bilbo and Thorin?

 

"They're adopting your babe, aren't they?" he asked softly.

 

"No!" she cried backing away slightly and smoothing her skirt in a way that only made her condition all the more apparent.

 

"Did you change your mind, then?" he asked, knowing just how the news would devastate Thorin even if it would also please the dwarf to know that the babe would remain with its mother.

 

"No, I mean there was nothing for me to change," she stuttered. "That would require . . . I'm not—  there's no babe." He said nothing , only raised an eyebrow and looked at her. With a sigh, her shoulders slumped.

 

"How'd you know?" she asked, her tone revealing how defeated she felt.

 

"I'm rather bright," Frodo replied, not having the heart to tell her that her condition was rather obvious. "Why else would a random hobbit-lass be at our door asking for both of them?" She smiled sheepishly.

 

"Suppose you're right," she laughed. "I guess I'll keep trying back. See if they don't return before . . . well, you know."

 

"What were you wanting them for, if it wasn't to tell them you're keeping the babe?" Frodo asked. "I'd hate for you to keep coming all this way if it's something I can help you with."

 

"I just," she paused to sigh before she could continue, "I just wanted to meet the people who will be raising it, you know? Make sure they're good people. And, maybe, see if they needed a wet-nurse, unless they've already got plans on how to feed it."

 

"I can't speak on the last part," Frodo said, though secretly he thought that Thorin would love a way to include her in the child's life and he knew Bilbo would agree, if only to please Thorin. "However I _can_ tell you what it was like growing up in Bag End with Uncle Bilbo."

 

"I'd like that," she replied, a tentative smile crossing her lips.

 

"Good, come inside then. I'll make us some tea and sandwiches," he said, ushering her inside before sitting her down and doing just as he'd offered. They talked well into the afternoon and, if she wasn't the _exact_ company he'd hoped for, well she was a great deal better than Lobelia would have been. It was that that made him offer to allow her the chance to stay in Bag End until such a time as Thorin and Bilbo returned. When she argued that the neighbors would talk, he laughed.

 

"And it's high time that I give them a reason to talk of my own rather than riding Uncle's coattails, isn't it?" he'd replied. She couldn't think of any reply of her own but made no further protest when he sent to her parents for her things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay folks. No excuses, just an apology :/


	41. Rain and Chaperons

Time moved both too swiftly and strangely slow over the next few days. Having Thorin back was more than she ever could have hoped for. But to have him back happier than she could ever remember seeing him? Dìs was so euphoric that, when Bilbo lamented that he'd be unable to make the peach tarts his grandfather  had perfected over his hundred-odd years if he had no eggs, she offered to run out to the market despite the rain to fetch some. As she walked through the puddled streets, she couldn't help but smile as she remembered the story they had told her that morning of the time Bilbo had gotten cheeky with a wizard over his usefulness, or lack-thereof, and inexplicably ("stop snorting Thorin, I ride very well, thank you very much") found himself thrown from his wonderfully docile pony and into a puddle the size of a small lake. The memory of the way her brother's eyes had sparkled with laughter as he described his mate warmed her heart.

" _Dís you should have seen him! He was flailing about and throwing mud--"_

_"I was terrified, you oaf," Bilbo had cut him off, smacking Thorin before rubbing his hand, grimacing and muttering about hard-headed, stone-boned, insensitive dwarves. Rather than reply, Thorin simply covered Bilbo's smaller hand with both of his own, rubbing the reddened knuckles with an indulgent smile. Bilbo, too, had smiled, closing his eyes and placing his other hand over Thorin's._

She knew she had to look ridiculous, smiling at nothing in the market, but she couldn't bring herself to care. the two of them together, it had been so peaceful, so _warm._ She could never recall seeing he brother so relaxed. Strange as their relationship was, it clearly worked well for them. And she would never question things that brought those she loved joy.

"Afternoon, Dís," the dwarf lass behind the market stall said, shocking the other female, as she hadn't realized she'd walked so far.

"Afternoon, Glori," She replied, nearly surprised at the light sound of her own voice. The other dwarf's eyes widened momentarily, before she regained control and schooled her features once more.

"What brings you out on such a miserable day?" Glori asked, gesturing at the sky as though the older dwarf woman wasn't aware of the water falling from it.

"Eggs," Dís laughed.

Glori looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. "Eggs? But you just bought a dozen three days ago." While in some households that wouldn't have been out of the ordinary, Dís had been shopping there long enough for the shopkeeper to know her habits. And going through a dozen eggs in three days was not within them.

"Yes, but three days ago my brother and his _ravenous_ hobbit mate hadn't invaded my home and decimated my larders," Dís replied with a laugh, not noticing the concerned glances of the few people foolish, or desperate, enough to brave the rain and come to market.

"O-oh, alright then," the shopkeeper said warily, knowing in her heart the last of Durin's senior line had finally fallen to the madness rumored to run through it. After all, the last of her brothers had died sixty years ago and no known dwarf had ever taken a hobbit as a mate. She forced a smile, hoping it came across at least somewhat genuine.

"So, another dozen for you then?" Glori asked, the words coming out overly chipper to her own ears, but, thankfully, Dís didn't seem to notice.

The older dwarf sighed before speaking. "Better make it two," she said, shaking her head, that same peculiar smile still on her face.

"Ok, two dozen it is then," Glori replied before taking Dís' basket and loading them in. "Take care, Dís," she called as the other Dwarf lady walked away. Dís smiled and nodded before continuing on her way, humming with a smile on her face.

No sooner was she out of sight than Glori was closing up shop. It was a slow day anyway, and the council _had_ to know that the stresses of Dís' life had finally taken their toll; she had gone mad from the grief of her losses. In a strange way, she was glad for her; though clearly insane, at least Dís was happy now for the first time that Glori could remember seeing.

**ooO88Ooo**

Things at Bag End had also reached a certain peaceful equilibrium. It had taken a bit of adjusting, on both of their parts, but Frodo and Peony had grown accustomed to the presence of one another. They had managed to find a comfortable harmony and pattern to their day, both taking turns with the necessary tasks, such as cooking and washing up. Initially, Frodo had attempted to keep Peony from any of the housework, stating that she was a guest in his home, until, as hobbit-lasses are wont, she shot him a glare worthy of Smaug himself (a favorite phrase of Bilbo's), placing her hands on her hips and saying, "If you think I'm just going to _sit_ here until they decide they're coming back well then . . . I'm not _that_ far along, not really. I can do the dishes. And the mending. You'll have to do your own laundry but I can help with some of the rest. Mama says it's not good for a body to sit idle, especially in my state."

Frodo had simply nodded and stepped aside to allow her access to the sink. After all Peony's mother wasn't the only one who had given advice on what was best for a body. When he'd been a hobbitling living in Buckland, his father had advised him many times on how to deal with the numerous expecting hobbit-lasses. "Give them the road, Frodo, my lad," his father had said time and again. "It is better for us all if you just give them the road."  He hadn't understood what his father had meant by the phrase then, but now he did. Quite clearly, in fact.

 

So it was that Peony was in the sitting room doing the mending while Frodo was preparing elevensies when a knock came at the door one day. Before Frodo could move the pan from the fire, Peony was already calling that she would answer it. Content that she was capable of it, Frodo continued cooking only to groan as he heard the voice on the other side of the door. He hastily moved the pan and made for the entrance hoping to rescue Peony, but the damage had already been done. Even with Thorin's threat looming over her to help regulate her behavior, Lobelia was the last person he wanted to see.

 

"Who are you then?" he heard her demanding and even without seeing her, he knew that her eyebrows would be nearly touching her eyes and that she would probably be circling the poor lass like an overgrown vulture. He saw that he wasn't wrong but now there was nothing to be done for it but perhaps to draw his cousin's attention to him.

 

"Peony Bracegirdle," the lass said, nodding her head in Lobelia's direction. Rather than introduce herself, Lobelia eyed the two of them speculatively before shaking her head and rounding on Frodo who had just entered the foyer.

 

"You should be _ashamed_ of yourself, Frodo Baggins," she said, her voice practically quivering with anger and a hatred in her eyes that he had never seen before. She'd loathed him ever since Bilbo had adopted him but never had she looked at him with such burning hatred.

 

"Ashamed?" Frodo asked, feeling taken aback by her vehemence. She had lectured both him and his uncle before but he'd never seen such rage from her. Her entire body was shaking and she was beginning to go a rather frightening shade of red. "Whatever for?"

 

"Leaving this poor girl, my third cousin on my mother's side by the way, in such a state," Lobelia gasped, angered beyond the ability to shout at the audacity of the young lad. Bilbo's heir or no, such behavior could not be allowed to persist. And King or not, no threat from a dwarf would prevent her from chastising irresponsible younglings. Oh, and if Bilbo thought he was off the hook . . . oh no, when he returned from gallivanting across the country he too would be getting a piece of her mind for allowing his heir to run amok and take advantage of young lasses. With that though, she turned her attention to Peony, her eyes and tone softening.

 

"Oh you poor lass," she said, turning to Peony and pulling the younger into an embrace and petting her hair. "We'll take care of this," she promised. "Baggins of Bag End or not, he won't be allowed to do this. I'll have words with the Thane himself. I swear it." Peony looked at Frodo, her eyes wide in confusion as her cousin continued to pet her and mumble assurances. It was only when she began speaking on dowries and the resources the Bagginses possessed to care for a lass that Frodo finally made sense of what she was on about.

 

"Lobelia," he called, attempting to regain her attention and flinching back at the hatred in her gaze when she did turn back to him. "It's not mine; the babe. I did _not_ father her child."

 

"Such gall," she spat, resuming her petting of Peony before pulling back to look at the younger hobbit. "He'll admit the truth, my lass. I swear it. We won't allow him to place this all on you. He'll do what's right."

 

"He's not the father," Peony replied, placing her own hand on Lobelia's wrist and pulling the older woman's hand from her cheek. "Frodo and I never—"

 

"What did he offer you if you'd say that, Peony, my lass," Lobelia asked gently, glaring at Frodo all the while. "Whatever it was, you don't have to accept it. When we get him to admit the truth you'll get that and more."

 

"Nothing," Peony said. "He offered me nothing because it's the truth. Frodo didn't father my child." The older hobbit stared at her for a long moment, as if attempting to see a lie in her soul before she sighed and seemed to deflate, her anger being replaced by confusion.

 

"Then why are  you here?" she asked. "What business does a young Bracegirdle lass in your condition have in Bag End?" Frodo rolled his eyes, the question of what business of Lobelia's—a Bracegirdle, he might add—it was what he did in his own home on his lips. He was about to ask when Peony decided to answer.

 

"Mr. Baggins and his dwarf are adopting the babe, " she said. "I came to ask if . . . well, see if . . . "

 

"She wanted to speak with Uncle and Thorin," Frodo said, taking mercy on her and stopping her before she could give Lobelia more information than she needed. "But they're not here and won't be for quite some time so I invited her to remain _because_ of her condition I felt it was better than to allow her to travel between here and Hardbottle in an attempt to catch them."

 

Lobelia was silent for a moment, seeming to think, before she sighed deeply. "You both have to realize how this looks," she said. "The neighbors are going to talk. They're going to say that the two of you were dallying."

 

"We weren't," Frodo replied firmly. "I have never touched her in that manner, nor she me."

 

"It won't matter," Lobelia sighed. "Two unmarried younglings, one of them expecting . . . you _have_ to realize how this looks." Peony shifted uncomfortably and looked at Frodo chewing her lip as her cousin said the exact things she had already said. Hearing another say it drove the truth of the matter home and she couldn't help feeling vaguely nauseated at what she had allowed to happen. Not just once now, but twice. Her reputation would never recover.

 

"Come, lass," Lobelia said softly, taking Peony's arm and leading her into the sitting room and to the sofa. "Sit, you look faint."

 

"I . . . I told you," she breathed, turning to look at Frodo with tearful eyes and shaking her head. "I never should have let you talk me into staying. I . . . I knew I shouldn't but—"

 

"Peony," Frodo sighed, sitting beside her and taking her hand. "Does it matter what they think?" She said nothing, but the answer was clear; yes, it mattered.

 

"What can we do?" Frodo asked, turning back to Lobelia. While he didn't particularly care about what the others thought of him, years of hearing the things said about Bilbo and knowing them to be false inuring him to the rumors. But Peony, she hadn't had that experience and her reputation was clearly still important to her.

 

"Is there someone else who could come stay with you? A chaperone of sorts?" Lobelia asked, a twinkle in her eyes that Frodo didn't like one bit, as he could see where it was going.

 

"No," Frodo sighed. "I don't have anyone in town who could serve as a chaperone." He felt each word dragged from him as if he were signing his own death warrant.

 

"Then I  volunteer," she said. "After all, we cannot have both the Baggins and the Bracegirdle names dragged through the mud for want of a chaperone." Frodo took a deep breath, reminding himself that it was for Peony's sake before nodding his agreement.

 

"I just need to run home a fetch a few things and I will return," Lobelia called over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

 

Frodo groaned as the door closed and leaned his head back against the sofa, begging Yavana for the patience to get through the weeks until Bilbo and Thorin returned.

 

Peony watched him for a moment before she touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "If I hadn't been a fool none of this would have happened."

 

"It's fine," Frodo muttered. "We'll survive her staying. Just . . ." he laughed before he looked at her, a crooked smile on his face. "Do me a favor and go hide the good silver." Peony gave a small laugh of her own before pushing off the couch to do just that. After all, everyone had heard that Cousin Lobelia had a certain _fondness_ for the silverware of others.

 


	42. Meetings in the Night

Dwali sighed deeply as he walked towards Dís' home. He found it almost fitting that the sky still wept as it matched his mood perfectly. They had drawn lots to see who would have to be the one to face the last of the senior line of Durin and tell her that they were stripping her of her power and his had been the unlucky draw. He wasn't sure what to expect—anger or misery—and, if he was honest with himself, wasn't certain which would be worse.

Probably the misery. He felt that he could endure her ire but if she wept . . . to cause yet more pain to someone who had already lost so much . . . he wasn't sure his conscience would take it. Even if she had gone mad and begun seeing people who were not there Dís had been a fair and wise leader for their people, just as her brother had before her. He had argued that they should see if her madness impacted her ability to rule before they ripped her position from her for succumbing to a grief that would have bowed any other dwarf, male or female, long ago. While Durin's folk were not unaccustomed to suffering and loss, few in their history had faced it in the magnitude that Dís had, losing her kingdom, and all of her kin at such a young age, leaving her entirely alone to face the rest of her life.  Especially her lads.

Death of children was, regrettably, not something dwarves were unaccustomed to either. It was a terrible thing to know from the first stirrings of life that there was a very real possibility that either the child or the mother would not survive the experience. Dwali knew that pain all too well. He had lost both his wife and his child in the act of attempting to bring the girl into the world. He thought the pain of it would kill him, yet he lived.

 Even so, he couldn't imagine what Dís endured every day. While he mourned his daughter, it was his wife who he truly missed. His wife who he'd known from the time they were children to the day she died. The child, though he had loved her and wept at her passing and begged Mahal to allow him to wake from his nightmare, had not truly left a mark on his soul the way his wife had. Dís' sons, however, had grown to adulthood at the time of their passing. They had to have woven themselves into every aspect of her life. It was likely that no moment of her day did not remind her of at least one of those whom she had lost.

As his fist raised to knock her door, he knew that even the ominous thuds he could hear would most likely remind her of the day she'd gotten that terrible news. He was confused when, rather than Dís' voice, he heard a child call that they were coming. He couldn't fathom why there would be a child in her home at this time of night as her only cousin with children that age—Dwalin—lived in Erebor and, though it had grown safer, the road was still treacherous and bringing children to visit would be an unnecessary risk.

If he had been confused before, he was flabbergasted when the bolt was drawn back and the door opened by a being that was clearly _not_ a dwarf child. The male had curly hair and pointed ears and the largest and _hairiest_ feet that Dwali had ever seen. Even if his height made the dwarf think of a child, the weariness in his hazel eyes revealed his age in a way his body didn't.

"State your business," the creature said, his tone annoyed as though Dwali were a salesman that had interrupted dinner. Which, if the smell coming from the open door was accurate, he had done.

"I need to speak with the Lady Dís on a matter of great urgency," Dwali replied, feeling a bit put-out that this creature would speak with a councilman of Ered Luin like a door-to-door merchant.

"And what would that matter be?" Bilbo asked, not wanting to interrupt Thorin and Dís' conversation for something that could wait until another time. He knew that politicians, which the dwarf before him clearly was, _always_ thought everything they had to say was 'of great urgency' when, in truth, it rarely was. "We are in the middle of the evening meal. I suggest you come back—"

"I _must_ speak with her," Dwali insisted, cutting the hobbit off and attempting to make his way through the door. He wasn't sure who the impertinent thing was or what business he had screening Dís' visitors but he would not be turned away by the new house-boy she had hired. Not when he _had_ to deliver his message.

"Well, I say!" Bilbo exclaimed stepping aside to avoid being bodily moved. "Such rudeness. Terrible manners, the lot of you! Dwarves."

"And is it not rude to keep visitors standing on the stoop in the rain when they _tell_ you they are here on urgent business with your betters?" Dwali snapped, unwilling to be spoken to in such a manner by a _servant_. "One in the employ of a dwarf would do better to speak more kindly of his master's race." Bilbo froze for a moment, the shock of what the dwarf before him had said slowly sinking in. Once it did, he felt fury take its place.

"My betters?" he said, his voice deathly cold. "And who, precisely would they be, Master Dwarf. I can assure you that no matter what you think you are not to be counted within that number. In fact, I doubt that any here could claim such a thing. There are only two in this entire township that could be counted my equals and _you_ are not among them either. Now, state your name and business or be off. Neither I nor Dís have time for jumped-up politicians who are unaware of their places in the pecking order."

"What's going on here?" Dís demanded coming around the corner from her dining room just as Dwali rounded on Bilbo.

"How dare you?!" the dwarf spat, ignoring the woman's question, enraged that this _creature_ would dare to declare himself his better. His fingers had just closed around the creature's arms when he felt cold, sharp steel pressing into his neck, not firmly enough to spill blood but near enough that the threat was apparent. And if he had any doubt as to the intent behind the weapon, the venomous words of its wielder would have cleared it up.

"Release him. Now," a dwarven voice said, low and full of deadly promise and barely suppressed rage.  His heart hammering in his chest, he did as commanded, opening his hands and pulling them away from the impertinent creature. At his next words, the very blood in his veins turned to ice.

"I had this handled, Thorin," the creature sighed in exasperation. _Thorin_. The name echoed in Dwali's ears. It was an uncommon name, unique to the royal line. Only one living dwarf currently bore that moniker. This trumped-up creature was in the employ of the crown prince of Erebor. He had just assaulted the servant of the future King of Durin's folk. No wonder he had felt he could speak him the way he had. The servant saw him as nothing more than a third-rate politician from some little town with no power compared to the one he served.

"Handled?!" Thorin asked incredulously. "Bilbo, do you have any idea what he could have done to you had he had a mind to?"

"Vividly," Bilbo replied, sadness in his tone that Dwali didn't understand. "As well you know. I know the things dwarven strength is capable of."

" _Azyungel,_ " Thorin sighed, lowering the sword from the frozen dwarf's neck and stepping forward to press his forehead to the hobbit's, his back to Dwali the entire time in a clear insult as to the danger the other posed to him. "I'm—"

"No more apologies, remember," Bilbo replied covering his mouth gently with his fingers. "Not about the past." Dwali watched as Thorin's dark head nodded and his arms came around Bilbo. He knew then that he was doomed, as if the word Thorin had called the creature wasn't enough to tell him that they were paramours. Even as he watched them, something felt off. To his knowledge, Thorin Stonehelm, heir of Erebor, had red hair, as did his father. Thorin also was not said to be one of the taller dwarves. The dwarf before him was both tall in stature and raven-haired. In fact, he bore no resemblance to Thorin III and a striking resemblance to the deceased Thorin II. He simultaneously felt his heart raise and his stomach sink ( a terribly strange feeling) as he wondered if the assumption they had made about Dís was wrong.

The creature, Bilbo, did fit the description of a hobbit, now that he thought about it, and the dwarf before him, that the hobbit called Thorin, did resemble the late Thorin Oakenshield from behind. Perhaps Dís was not mad, simply mistaken. Then the dwarf in question turned and he knew that Dís had been neither mad nor mistaken. There was no mistaking the glare of Thorin Oakenshield. He took a deep breath, knowing that it very well might be his last. Things were far worse than he had believed him to be when he'd heard the name. Known to be fair though he was, Thorin Oakenshield was also know to viciously defend those he loved and react swiftly against those that wished them harm. And he had intended harm on his lover. Mahal, he was a dead dwarf. A hopeful part of his mind whispered that if Thorin had wanted him dead he'd be dead but he couldn't listen to it. Not when part of him wasn't too opposed to the idea of being united with his wife and child in death.

Rather than raise his sword, Thorin spoke. "I will repeat my mate's question," Thorin said, his voice still filled with barely-contained anger, though now Dwali recognized it, "who are you and what business do you have in my sister's home at this time of night?"

"I-I came with a message," Dwali said shakily. "From the council. But . . . it's not important now." He prayed that they would allow him to leave and not force him to tell them that they'd believed Dís mad.

"It was important enough moments ago that you attempted to force your way into her home and assaulted my mate in the process," Thorin said coldly, his blue eyes icy and his tone worse. "Relay your message."

"Recent events have made it meaningless," Dwali tried. When neither Thorin nor Bilbo nor Dís appeared convinced he sighed. "Word reached us that she believed she was sharing her home with her returned brother and his hobbit lover and . . . "

"You thought I'd finally gone mad," Dís said, her voice sad and quiet. "You thought I'd finally given up on keeping a grasp on this terrible reality that I'd been living in for so long."

"We . . . we did," Dwali said softly. "I was coming to . . . to tell you that . . . that—"

"That her services would no longer be required," Thorin snapped. "Show some _spine_ , lad. If she had been mad, what then? Would you have come in here sniveling and skirting the issue like an elf-maid? No? Then why behave like that now? Is it because you're no longer dealing with taking the last things she has in this world from a broken, mad-woman or bullying an unarmed being who is smaller than you?  Are you afraid to face a whole woman and an grown dwarf? Coward."

"Thorin," Dís chided gently, understanding her brother's anger but not wanting bloodshed in her hall.

"No, Sire," Dwali replied looking down. "We . . . _I_ erred. Both in my carrying out of the task and our decision to remove her from power. I was against it from the beginning." He glanced up only to see Thorin sneering at him in disgust.

"What self-respecting dwarf would come to deliver a message he was 'against from the start'," Thorin demanded.

"We . . we drew lots," Dwali explained.

"Irrelevant," Thorin countered, knowing he was being unreasonable but not feeling generous towards the dwarf that had assaulted his mate and had been prepared to break his sister's heart and rob her of her rightful place while stating that he knew it was wrong.

"Dwarves like you are the reason our people are in decline," Thorin continued. "Creatures who call themselves Durin's Folk yet refuse to stand for what they believe in, to the Void with the consequences. If everyone had your _conviction_ nothing would ever be done."

"Thorin," Bilbo said, his hand squeezing Thorin's arm. "We _need_ good relations with the council. You shouldn't—"

"There are other mountains, Bilbo," Thorin said. "We do not need trade with the likes of _them_. They refused to support me all those years ago and it seems as if nothing has changed, save perhaps to grow worse, in sixty years. Leave," Thorin ordered, turning back to Dwali. "Leave. Tell the council that Dís is not mad and that they will not attempt to dispose her again lest I retake my rightful position and return the favor. Do you understand me?"

"Y-yes, Sire," Dwali nodded, scooting towards the door and nearly tripping down the stairs in his haste to escape. He knew as he made his way back to the council chambers that they would never believe him either but he didn't care. As far as he was concerned, they could all come and see for themselves that Thorin Oakenshield was alive and well. And on their heads be it. He would at least warn them to be cordial to the hobbit.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Thorin, Dís and Bilbo stood in the entry hall until the other dwarf was out of sight in the darkness. Only then did Dís shake her head and turn to go back into the dining room.

"Well done, Brother," she muttered, rubbing her forehead. She could feel the beginings of a headache just thinking about the damage control she would have to do in the morning for her brother's behavior that night.

"I thought so," Thorin said coolly. "I've wanted to say that for years."

"Why didn't you then?" Bilbo asked. "I've never seen you refrain from speaking your mind."

"Politics," Thorin sighed, seeming to collapse on himself a bit now that the threat was gone, withdrawing a bit from his full height and relaxing once more. "I may have had the final say, but even as a king you have to bear in mind the will of the people. No king of Durin's folk has ever been overthrown because we listen but dwarves are stubborn, as well you know, and without their will even a royal decree has little power."

"So you finally get to speak your mind _because_ you have no political power," Bilbo laughed, shaking his head at the irony of it. Who would have thought that having absolute power would restrain you from doing as you wished.

"I still have it, I just . . . if I _wanted_ it," Thorin struggled to find the words to explain his strange situation—one where he truly could reclaim all that he once had had without a fight simply on the merit of his breeding—to his mate but Bilbo smiled.

"I understand, Thorin," the hobbit said with a soft smile. "And I'm just glad you want a quiet life with me. I don't think I could live easily among such pompous—"

"Watch the language," Dís joked, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. "There is a lady present." As soon as her tense smile came it disappeared and she rested her head against Thorin's closing her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for your support. They won't attempt it again. Even though . . ." she sighed, knowing her thought to be weak but unable to stop it.

"What, Dís?" Thorin asked, concern in his blue eyes as his hand came up to rest on her cheek.

"I almost wish they would have," she muttered, admitting to her desire to surrender. "Disposed me, that is. I . . . I'm tired, Brother. Tired of ruling. Tired of fighting. I just . . . "

"Wish you could have a quiet life?" Thorin offered. Though he was still furious at their treatment of his sister he could help but be thankful for the opportunity they had presented. He'd been trying to find a way to offer to bring Dís to the Shire without offending her and now he had it.

"Yes," she breathed, leaning into his touch. "A quiet life to live out the rest of my days in peace. With you."

"Come with us," Thorin replied. She pulled back, opening her eyes and staring at him in shock. "Come with us to the Shire."

"I . . . I can't," she said, shaking her head.

"I have plenty of room," Bilbo offered. "And plenty of gold. I can build you a home of your own if you wish it."

"That wouldn't be necessary but—"

"Come with us, Dís," Thorin replied. "Come be with people who love you. Leave these grasping cowards to themselves and come with us. Come with _me_. I couldn't take you before, but, come now."

"There'd be arrangement that need to be made," Dís argued, reluctant to agree to something that seemed too good to be true. "Furniture to move, things to pack, wagons to buy."

"All feasible," Bilbo said with a shrug.

"But your timeline," she reminded them.

"Flexible," Thorin said. "We know that travel is a variable thing and made contingency plans in case it took longer than we anticipated. We can wait." Dís closed her eyes and thought of all the reasons she shouldn't go but she could find no compelling reason she should deny herself this chance at happiness. With a small laugh she opened her eyes.

"We begin tomorrow," she said firmly, her eyes alight with anticipation. "I'm moving to the Shire."

 

 


	43. Many Changes

The next few days passed in a flurry of activity that left Dís astounded at the resourcefulness of hobbits in general, or at least one Bilbo Baggins. Sooner than she could have ever thought possible Bilbo had made all of the necessary arrangements for her departure for the Shire. He had hired wagons and packers for the things she could not bear to part with and arranged a sale for the rest. Including her home. Somewhere he had found a young couple with a small lad that needed more room than they had and offered them a price they could afford for the space. The things he could not do, such as arranging the move with the council, Thorin had seen to, though he had come home with such a smug look on his face that she had chosen not to ask what had happened, for her sanity if nothing else.

So it was that less than a week after she had decided that she would like to move she was packed and standing in the middle of her bare home. As she took one more walk through the place that had been her home as long as she could recall having one, she couldn't help the tightness that crept from her chest and up her throat before welling from her eyes. That was where Kíli had taken his first steps, and that notch in the door was where Fíli had attempted to lift his uncle's sword at far too young an age and nearly taken off his own leg had the door not caught the tip. All the empty, echoing walls resounded with memory of the life she had lived and those she had lost. Leaving it behind now felt like she was abandoning them to history, allowing their memory to fade and be written over by another. She knew how foolish such thoughts were, however, knowing did not stop her from feeling.

She was sitting in the floor by the hearth, in the same place her favorite chair had once sat, when Thorin came to collect her.

"We're ready, Dís," he said softly, kneeling beside her.

"I don't know that I am," she whispered, looking up at him, her silent tears clinging to her lashes. "I don't know that I ever will be. I just, I _want_ to go with you but . . . I though I would have more time."

"It wouldn't have helped," Thorin sighed, pulling her against him. "No amount of time could have prepared you to leave your home. I;m sorry. It was wrong of me to have asked you to come."

"No," she argued. "I _want_ to go. I just . . . I'm a fool. So attached to a piece of rock that I can't bring myself to leave it to spend the rest of my life with my only family. I . . . there's just so many memories here, Thorin. Of you. And . . . and the . . . the lads." He said nothing, merely holding her more tightly as he felt her tears leach into his shirt. He had been so excited about the prospect of his sister coming with him that he hadn't thought through how difficult this would be for her.

"Let's go," she said suddenly, wiping her eyes and pushing herself to her feet. "I'm being a sentimental fool. What need have I for the ghosts of memory when I have you, and your hobbit, of course."

"Are your _sure_ , Dís?" Thorin asked, rising and following her towards the door. "We can always-"

"We can't." she said, her voice sounding more certain that she felt. "Everything's already been arranged and sold. There's no going back now. I'm coming with you." He nodded and headed for the door. As she followed him, she could swear that she could hear the patter of small feet following her. However, when she turned at the door to look at her home one final time, nothing was there: only bare stone. With a final sniff, she took Thorin's hand and climbed into the seat of the wagon beside Bilbo.

"Beautiful day for travel," the hobbit said offering her a small smile, purposefully ignoring the tears still clinging to her lashes despite her effort to clear them.

"It is," she agreed, looking at the clear blue sky before pulling her cloak a bit more tightly around her shoulders. "Bit cold though."

"It'll warm," Thorin promised. "As soon as we come down from the mountains. You'll love the Shire, Dís. Very mellow weather. Good for old bones."

"And what do you know of old bones, _little_ brother?" Dís asked, elbowing him in the ribs. Thorin said nothing, merely shaking his head at her antics before clicking his tongue and giving the ponies a nudge to get them moving.

**ooOO88OOoo**

In Bag End, things had slipped into a routine since Lobelia had invited herself in. If you had asked Frodo even six months ago if he could ever live under the same roof as his cousin in peace he would have laughed you out the gate. Now, however, it was almost as if she had been there forever. He, Lobelia and Peony worked around one another to prepare meals and compete chores like they were meant to have been doing so forever.

Now, in the first few days things had been a bit rough as they had attempted to hammer out things such as proper meal timing, methods of food preparation and appropriate places for things to be around the house. However, these differences quickly went by the wayside as Frodo realized that, his home or not, there was no arguing with a pregnant female or his cousin. So, while he would never store tomatoes beside cheese or the teapot next to the spices, he allowed it. Just as they made allowances for habits that living with another bachelor had instilled in him over time.

In fact, he was nearly accustomed to the new locations of things and could almost not remember where they truly belonged. When there was a knock at the door while he was making afternoon tea he didn't even stop to attempt to answer it, content that Lobelia or Peony would get it and spare him worrying about burning the toast. Moments later the toast was forgotten as a shriek from Lobelia rent the air.

Frodo pulled the pan from the fire and headed for the entry to find and enraged Thorin towering over his terrified cousin.

"-barely turn my back and you are back to squatting again," Thorin was saying, his blue eyes hard as he stared her down.

"I'm sure there's a reason she's here, Thorin," Bilbo said, his chest feeling tight in the face of his lover's rage, as his body still remembered far too well what Thorin was capable of in such a fit, but unable to leave even Lobelia to face him alone.

"Aye," the dwarf agreed, "she's attempting to take what is rightfully yours once more. And what, pray tell, did you do with young Frodo? Eh? Is he at the bottom of the river, perhaps?"

"Now, Thorin," another dwarf, with whom Frodo was unacquainted cut in. "I doubt she killed the lad for the hole."

"You don't know what she's capable of, Dís," Thorin growled. "I wouldn't but murder past her."

"I didn't kill anyone," Lobelia sobbed. "And I'm not squatting. I was invited to stay."

"Invited by who?" Bilbo asked, knowing that Frodo would never have invited Lobelia into their home unless there was some form of coercion at work. The lad couldn't stand her for five minutes on the street, let alone as a guest in his home.

"By me," Frodo broke in. "I invited her. And I assure you I am not that the bottom of the river." At his words, an awkward silence settled over the group in the entry. "You might give her some space, Thorin. She looks nearly faint." As Thorin backed away from Lobelia, confusion written into every line of his being, the dwarf identified as Dís stepped forward and took Lobelia by the shoulders.

"Come, lass," she said. "I think a bit of fresh air would do us good while these _lads_ sort things out amongst themselves, no? I've been told that you hobbits are fond of flowers and there seemed to be a beautiful garden just out the door." Lobelia nodded and allowed herself to be lead out the door by the dwarf.

"Do you smoke?" Dís asked. "Because I just so happen to have a pipe and a leaf that I doubt you have ever tasted before." Lobelia's answer went unheard as Dís shut the door behind them, a bit harder than necessary, in Bilbo's opinion, leaving them alone in the silence.

"Frodo, my lad," Bilbo sighed. "I think this explanation calls for tea. And perhaps scones." Frodo nodded and headed to the kitchen to collect the requested items leaving Bilbo to follow to the dining room. The elder of the two had only take a few steps when he realized Thorin wasn't following. Turning back, he saw his mate standing exactly where he had been when Dís separated him from Lobelia.

"Thorin?" Bilbo called softly, heading back towards the dwarf. "Aren't you coming to hear what's happened while we were gone?"

"She's supposed to be here," Thorin replied, his eyes distant and his face slack. "She is allowed to be here."

"Well, that's what the lad said," Bilbo scoffed. "Personally, I think he's lost his mind. And I hope he remembered to hide the silver. He'd better have a good explanation."

"She's an invited guest," Thorin breathed, still not making eye contact.

"You've said that," Bilbo replied, gently reaching up to put his hand on the dwarf's cheek. "What are you thinking?"

"I assaulted her," Thorin said, finally looking at Bilbo with regret in his eyes. "She was given permission to be here and rather than ask I cornered her and terrified her. I harmed a female without cause."

"You had every reason to believe she was here illicitly," Bilbo placated. "I figured she was as well. Her record is against her on this one, Thorin."

"Record or no," the dwarf sighed, "I wrongfully mistreated an innocent female. While not dwarf, she is still female. Only the basest of dwarves would do such a thing. Not one who was once a king. There is no way I can offer her proper recompense for my behavior."

"You can start with an apology," Bilbo offered. "For now, let's go find out what she's doing in our house." Thorin looked unconvinced but allowed the hobbit to lead him into the dining room. He could only hope that there was something dubious about her presence in their home to attempt to ease his conscience about his recent behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's been so long. I've just been terribly busy between balancing work, a toddler, a pregnancy, buying a house and orchestrating a move. And then I show up with a short chapter. I do promise that the next one is in the works and things are beginning to look like there is a light at the end. And hopefully I can get a new chapter out much sooner. Thank you for those of you that are still here and welcome to anyone brave enough to jump in.  
> Stickdonkeys


	44. Catching  Up and Moving On

Frodo had barely begun his explanation of Lobelia's presence in Bag End and already Thorin was feeling more wretched about what he had done than before. By the time it was done, he was wishing for the first time since the ordeal with the Ring that the Valar had not decided to bring him back to suffer more for his sins. Not only had the she-hobbit been _invited_ , she had been there for the honor of her family and now his. And he had assaulted her for looking out for the good of her kin. He was abhorrent; a feeling that only grew the more he heard, even if his mate wasn't quite so convinced of her good intentions.

"So, let me get this straight," Bilbo said slowly, attempting to understand just how his least-favorite cousin had been invited into his home. "You invited a pregnant hobbit lass to live here until the time of the birth of her babe."

"I did," Frodo agreed, steadily, unfazed by the way Bilbo was staring at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"And then when it was discovered that you were living with said pregnant hobbit lass, you allowed _Lobelia,_ of all people, to move in as a chaperon?" Bilbo continued, his eyebrow raising in incredulity.

"I did," Frodo replied again, wondering just how many times he was going to have to admit to things he'd already admitted to doing.

"But, Frodo, my lad, didn't you tell her that there was no need for a chaperon as the deed had already been done, so to speak?" Bilbo sighed. "I mean, it's not as if any dalliance the two of you might have committed would cause any more harm. The cake is already baking, as they say."

"Lobelia said there would be talk," Frodo said with a shrug. "I let her move in for Peony's sake. I wanted to spare her the gossip."

"There's already talk, my lad," Bilbo scoffed. "The lass is with child. In Hobbiton. Of course there's talk. And you know that to find this place she had to have asked after us. The Baggins name is already connected to that lass and her child in the gossip circles, you mark my words, lad. And well . . . with my . . . _preferences_ known, I'm afraid that you are the only Baggins with a possible claim to the babe.

"In fact, I would bet my best walking stick that's how Lobelia learned that she was here," Bilbo laughed. "It's not like she would have been dropping by for tea, after all. She came up here _intending_ to coerce you into inviting her to stay."

"Peony is her cousin," Frodo said, uncertainty creeping into his voice for the first time.

"So are we," Bilbo replied. "By the Valar, half the Shire is related to that she-orc. Regardless, there will _still_ be talk. Especially as Thorin and I are adopting her child. Of course we would want to keep your mistakes in the family, wouldn't we?"

"But I never-"

"Won't matter," Bilbo sighed. "I never excavated the hill and stuffed it full of gold either and that rumor still persists." At Frodo's dejected expression, Bilbo sighed again, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not saying you did wrong, lad," Bilbo offered. "There was nothing you could have done to prevent it once she started asking about Bagginses. In fact, had you sent her away it would have looked worse. You made the right call on the lass. Lobelia however . . . You did at least remember to hide the good silver, didn't you?"

Before Frodo could answer, the front door opened and female voice called his name from the hall. Bilbo didn't miss the way both Thorin and Frodo flinched at the tone and wondered what they knew that he didn't. Moments later, a heavily pregnant hobbit was standing in the entry to the den, a brimming market bag on one hip and her hand on the other.

"Frodo Baggins, would you care to explain to me just why my cousin is sitting in the garden, smoking a pipe with a dwarf and shaking like a leaf?" Peony asked, her voice soft and honey sweet as she glared at him. Understanding abruptly dawned on Bilbo as he vaguely recalled his mother speaking to his father that way; and the blazing rows that often followed.

"I . . . Um . . . I can explain that, Peony," Frodo started, attempting to stall long enough to come up with a plausible excuse that was close enough to the truth that if Lobelia ever talked about it it would work but far enough from the truth as to not make Thorin seem volatile and worry her unnecessary. As he floundered, she simply raised one delicate sandy brow and waited. "Well, you see," he started again. "What you've got to understand is . . ."

"It was my fault," Thorin said softly, meeting her pale green eyes as she turned to him. "Your cousin has, in the past, encroached on the . . . No. There is no excuse for what I did. When I arrived and she was here I am afraid I lost my temper and threatened her. My sister is attempting to calm her and right my wrongs. If I though my presence would do anything other than make it worse I would join her and offer my sincerest apologies however. . . I believe the best thing I can do for your cousin is to leave her alone."

"Your sister?" Peony asked, briefly derailed by the fact that the bearded dwarf with the pipe who greeted her with such a deep voice was female. In fact, she had believed her to be Thorin.

"Dís," Thorin supplied. "My younger . . . By birth, at any rate, sister. She has always been more diplomatic than I have. I am afraid this is not the first time she has needed to smooth over my erroneous conclusions. Though the result has never been so base an error." Peony mulled this new information over for a moment before nodding.

"So I take it you're Thorin, then?" She said, her eyes boring into him, sizing him up in a way that he hadn't expected.

"I am," he agreed before sweeping her a bow. "Thorin Oakenshield, at your service."

"Of course _she_ get's an 'at your service'," Bilbo grumbled to Frodo. "When he and his lot invaded my house he didn't even introduce himself. Just walked into my home, bold as brass, and began demanding wine. Not a single word about service for me. Unless it was to complain about my lack of it."

"And you must be Bilbo Baggins," Peony said, turning her attention to him with a faint smile. He nodded but said nothing. She was silent a bit longer, her jaw working as she thought. Finally she seemed to come to a conclusion.

"You'll do," she said simply. "It's clear that you care for one another, and Frodo assures me that, even alone, you raised him well. Despite what they say about you in town and your. . . I apologize, sir, but even I can tell you have a temper." Thorin looked away at that until she put a hand on his arm and continue, "But I can also tell you have a good heart. And Cousin Lobelia does tend to bring out the worst in everyone. I-" she trailed off, swallowing heavily and taking a deep breath.

When she spoke again, her voice was decidedly shakier than it had been. "Since I _have_ to give it to someone," she said, "I . . . You seem like the kind of people I'd want to give it to. I mean . . . You'll raise it right, where I can't." She gave small, bitter laugh. "Probably do better than I could have. I mean, look at me. Pregnant and unpromised. Not like I'm in a position to teach it morals, right? No, it's better that I have no hand in raising it."

"You can," Thorin said suddenly, cutting her off before she could say anything else. "I mean no offense to your people, but it has never sat well with me that we were esentially taking a child from a mother by force. If you were truly willingly giving it up or had passed during the birth it would be one thing but this . . ." he trialed off, his hand involutarilly clinching. He glanced at Bilbo for a moment, grief and longing in his eyes. With a sigh and a fond smile, Bilbo nodded.

"I will not part a mother from her child against her will," Thorin said finally, turning back to Peony.

"Y-you can't back out! I _can't_ keep it," Peony argued. "People would never allow it. My parents would never let me. Besides, the papers have already been signed. It may be in my body, but this babe is yours, sure as if you were carrying it. It's not mine anymore. I can't rob you of your property."

"That's not what we're doing, lass," Bilbo said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Calm down and listen a moment. If I understand my mate, and I'm fairly sure I do, Thorin is not proposing that you retain sole custody of the child." The dwarf opened his mouth only to shut it again at a stern glare from Bilbo. "We understand what a scandal that would be. Now, I think there is a solution here that will please everyone."

"Thorin and I _will_ adopt the child," Bilbo said before continuing in a louder voice to cover Thorin before he could protest, " _however_ , we will retain your services as a wet-nurse. After all, mother's milk is better for a babe, even if a goat's will work in a pinch." Thorin was about to protest yet again that her time with the babe would be so short, while Peony was feeling relieved to spend any time at all with her babe. However Bilbo was not yet done.

"At such time as those services are no longer required," he continued with a small smile for the lass, "well, babes are messy things. Lots of laundry and such. And, well, I'm getting on in years and Thorin . . . Suffice it to say cleanliness is not an inherent dwarven trait." Despite the insult to the cleanliness of his race, Thorin couldn't help but smile as he saw where Bilbo was going with this. Yes, this was a solution he could live with. Assuming of course that Peony agreed.

"Uncle, you can't force her to work here just to see her child. That's cruel," Frodo cut in.

"That's not what I'm proposing, lad," Bilbo said sternly. "The lass will be allowed to see her child whether or not she accepts the offer. Thorin would have it no other way. What I'm proposing is that, if she wishes, we can hire her on as a live-in maid once the child is weaned. She can continue to live with her child and be paid to do the tasks she would otherwise do for free in her own home. She would be free to leave at any time and still be able to visit her child."

"And how will _that_ look?" Frodo asked sharply. "One lass living under the roof with three males. Her reputation will never recover."

"Dís will be here," Thorin countered, truly liking the idea of the lass having an active part in her child's life. True, there would be details to work out later, such as child-rearing practices between the three of them-it wouldn't do to have the lass feel her child was being mistreated with no recourse just because it was theirs in name-but that could be addressed later.

"I don't know that she counts as-"

"I'll do it," Peony cut in, sensing an argument in the wind. "My reputation can't be salvaged at this point, Frodo. I wasn't completely honest with my parents when I came here. I was supposed to be going to a distant cousin's farm, only I came to Hobbiton. Everyone already knows I am with child. And with the Baggins name tied to it their not like to forget it. After all, this adoption is a scandal in its own right. I know this won't be easy and their are things we will need to discuss but I like it. I'd rather be in its life as a maid than not at all."

"You won't be," Thorin replied. His heart broke at the way Peony's face fell at his pronouncement. It took him a moment to realize that she thought he was rejecting the plan.

"Not as a maid," he clarified. "The child will know you are its mother. I will see to it." Peony's eyes filled with tears and she bit her lip, nodding her head in thanks.

"So, um," Bilbo said, uncomfortable with all the emotion in the room at the moment. "What are we going to do about Lobelia? Clearly she can't stay here, so shall I be the one to go and tell her to get on?"

"No need," Dís said, her tenor voice shocking them all as none of them had heard her come in and lean against the door frame. "She left some time ago saying that she wouldn't come back here. Except for the birth of your babe, dear. She asks that we send word when it is time. Says that the poor lass deserves a proper female attendant. Don't think she thinks I count."

"You count, Dís," Bilbo promised. "Lobelia's unpleasant at best and that was most certainly not her best."

"Isn't it time for tea?" Peony asked, her tone forcibly bright. "I know I for one am famished." Whether or not it was true, none of them were willing to challenge her on the issue and instead set to assembling a quick tea. After all, there had been more than enough flares of temper in Bag End for one day.

**ooOO88OOoo**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And real life strikes again. We are now moved, the new baby is here and life goes on. Surprisingly, so does the story. I hope it was worth the wait and I understand that slow updates do cause a loss of interest. I apologize again that it takes time.
> 
> Stickdonkeys


	45. Rest and Solitude

It took far less time than any of them had predicted for life in Bag End to reach a kind of equilibrium. The vast majority of the delay could be attributed to the fact that everyone wanted to make everyone else free welcome. Thorin wanted to make certain that both Peony and his sister felt at home and so refused to state preferences on anything, leading to him spending most of his time as the forge or seeing to the ground work for the new settlement. Frodo and Peony had already made their peace with one another, but with the inclusion of his uncle, Thorin, and Dís, that had been disrupted.

Peony had never before shared a home with dwarves, unlike the rest of the group, but was determined not to make waves even in the face of strange customs for the sake of her future in the household. She wanted to make sure that she was so useful that they couldn't imagine life without her. Part of her still couldn't believe that Bilbo and his mate wanted to include her in their-she continued to have to remind herself that wasn't hers, at least not in the eyes of the law-child's life. Not once the child weaned and there was easier rid of her, at any rate.

It was with that knowledge driving her that, despite the fact that she was nearing the end of her time, she took on all the housework she could accomplish. That is until Dís, with Thorin's full backing, put an end to it.

"You need your rest," the dwarf dam said, all but backing the hobbit lass into a chair before placing her feet on a stool.

"I'm fine," she insisted, trying to summon up the energy to rise from what was, undeniably, a comfortable position.

"If not for you than for the babe," Dís countered, knowing Peony would have no argument for that. "You'll have your work cut out for you soon enough, lass. Don't over tax yourself on housework. The lads have to do some of the work for this babe after all." The last was nearly whispered and delivered with a wink as though it was a great conspiracy. Peony had to laugh at that.

"All right," she sighed. "But just for a moment." Dís nodded and turned back to doing the dishes. When she glanced back, just she'd suspected, the hobbit lass was taking an impromptu nap. She couldn't stop her fond smile at the memory of her brother and husband forcing her to do the same all those years ago.

The memory was followed by and ache in her breast. Time, and the move, had made it less frequent but had done nothing to dull the sting when it came. She sent up a silent prayer to The Maker that the lass' tale would have a happier outcome than her own. Though being as the babe was a hobbit, she didn't see how it couldn't.

**ooOO88OOoo**

Once the ground rules were hashed out, the only person not entirely pleased with the arrangement was Bilbo. That's not to say that he was unhappy with Peony or Dís' addition to their home. He wasn't. They were both lovely people, as were Thorin and Frodo. It was just that there were now so many of them. True, more people had been in Bag End before, but they were guests not residents of undetermined duration.

Never before had so many people called the place home. And for a long-confirmed bachelor who only a short time ago believed that he would spend his days in relative solitude, the change was daunting. So much so, in fact, that he took to spending much of his time in either his room or his study leaving poor Frodo to contend with the ladies in search of a bit of time to himself.

It was during one of his searches for solitude that Thorin came home unexpectedly one day.

"So it is true," the dwarf said from the door, causing Bilbo to jump, splattering ink across the page. He was a bit surprised that Thorin was home as he hadn't been spending much more than meals and sleep there since they had returned.

"What's true?" the hobbit asked, dabbing at the page, a bit put out and surprised by the condemnation he could hear in the other's tone. It wasn't as if Thorin didn't know he was working on a memoir-that had been complete prior to requiring a massive revision, thank you very much. Seeing him working on it surely didn't deserve that tone.

"That you spend your days hiding in your room," Thorin replied, his voice weary. He hated that his decisions had led to Bilbo hiding in his own home. And no one could deny that inviting Dís had been his plan, as had extending a permanent invitation to Peony.

"Our room," Bilbo corrected, nearly absently. "And I'm not hiding." Thorin raised an eyebrow, unconvinced of the statement, to which Bilbo scoffed. "I'm not hiding," he insisted. "Everyone knows I'm here or they couldn't have told you. It's not hiding. I'm . . . I'm seeking solitude."

"A very eloquent word for hiding," Thorin sighed, moving to sit beside his hobbit. "I can ask Dís to move. As soon as I can build her a new home to her liking."

"No!" Bilbo said, placing his hand on Thorin's knee. "She's family. You're the only one she has left. You can't ask that of her."

"And I can't ask this of you," Thorin countered. "I can't reduce you to hiding in one room when you have your parent's entire home to choose from."

"I don't stick to one room," Bilbo argued. "I come out for meals and then go back to either our room or my study to work on my book. Just as I've done for years. Ask Frodo."

"I did," Thorin replied, his tone wry, "And he said that you used to spend most of your time in the chair by the fireplace in the winter and in the window seat overlooking the garden in the spring and summer. Not your bedroom." Bilbo shifted a bit at that. He hadn't expected that Thorin had spoken to Frodo about this already, though, who else would have run tattling to his mate about his hiding.

"I suppose my habits have changed a bit," the hobbit sighed. "It's just . . . there are so many people here now, Thorin. I can't even hear myself think, let alone gather my thoughts to write."

"What are you even working on?" Thorin asked, wondering what was so important that Bilbo would hide away rather than spend time with people that were quite fond of him.

"Our story," Bilbo replied. "No one will ever believe it later otherwise. They'll think it was changed over time as it was told, just like they do old Bullroarer Took's. I want them to know."

"They'll think that anyway, love," Thorin sighed, ruffling the hobbit's hair. "After all, who is going to believe the events of the quest alone, not to mention my coming back from the dead? Even if it's written, no one will believe it who hasn't lived it. You and I both know it's just an excuse. Why are you really hiding."

"I miss having time for me," Bilbo said honestly, leaning into Thorin's shoulder with a sigh. "When it was just me and Frodo, well the lad would go play and I could do as I wished without having to wonder what people would think of it. Now . . . there are so many eyes, Thorin. And ears. I don't . . . there's no privacy."

"Is that what this is about?" Thorin asked with a laugh. "Privacy? And what, exactly, are you needing privacy for, Bilbo? Something lascivious, perhaps?"

"Oh, you!" Bilbo scoffed, pulling away and swatting Thorin. "That's not all I think about."

"But it is something you do," Thorin purred, his breath tickling the hobbit's ear. "And it has been some time. What with the travel and the company. No wonder you're frustrated with the situation."

"That's not funny, Thorin," Bilbo said batting at him again. "I've gone much longer than this before. I'm not a tween. I have some restraint. My mood is not tied directly to sexual release." Thorin didn't point out that Bilbo had quite a reputation for being crotchety, instead, he pulled the hobbit back into a hug, which Bilbo only resisted for a moment before melting into him.

"I never said it was, Gishavel," Thorin whispered into his hair. " I was merely offering an easy solution to the problem." Bilbo shook his head, pressing his forehead to Thorin's neck.

"They'll hear," he muttered sadly.

"Not if we're not here," Thorin replied, Bilbo pulled back and looked up at him in shock.

"If you think we're going to the Green Dragon and renting a room to . . . That's actually worse," Bilbo scoffed. "I mean, everybody knows, not that I mind. Of course, I don't! I am quite fond of you and. . . we're adopting a babe together so they already know but . . . that's private. Hobbits don't . . . we don't. . ."

"I know, Bilbo," Thorin cut him off, stroking his face, his blue eyes sad at the reminder of how ashamed Bilbo had been of his attraction to Thorin. "I remember. I wasn't suggesting anything of the sort. I . . . there's a clearing I've found on my walks. Very peaceful. Secluded even. The perfect place to seek solitude . . . together."

"I think you and I have very different meanings of the word if you think it can involve more than one person," Bilbo replied, shaken by their conversation and not seeing that Thorin was only referring to the inn being out of the question. It was only Thorin's raised eyebrow and the suggestive way he was stroking his thigh that made him put two and two together. "Oh! Solitude, together, I see. A secluded clearing, you say? I think, perhaps, we should picnic. Food, a hike, a blanket. Just like old times. Make a day of it. That is, if you think you're up to it."

"My dear hobbit," Thorin countered. "I think you will find that I am more than up for the occasion."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's short and late . . . just wanted to let you all know that I'm not dead and am still working on this story.


	46. Show Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Not terribly graphic (I don't think by I'm medical so I don't think I count) depiction of childbirth in this chapter.

Over the following weeks Thorin and Bilbo took many _picnics_ to the clearing and Bilbo slowly adapted to the change in the number of residents of Bag End, coming to even appreciate the extra hands as they freed him up to work more on things he _wanted_ to do rather than things he _had_ to do. But then winter fully set in and such excursions would be ill-advised if not outright foolish. There was nothing more that could be done for the preparations of the settlement until spring thaw, and little more to do at the forge, so, Thorin, too, was spending most of his days in the home with the others. Though he would be the last one to admit it, he enjoyed spending his days relaxing before the fire with his unconventional family.

Despite his continued need for a bit of peace and quiet, Bilbo, too, was content. Peony and Dís truly were unobtrusive when he wasn’t going out of his way to be put out by their presence. Frodo genuinely enjoyed their company and for the first time since he’d adopted the lad—partially to spite the Sackville-Bagginses—he felt a twinge of regret at taking him from the companionship of Brandywine Hall. But as he’d long since learned, regret did nothing. All he could do now was move on and allow Frodo the company he’d been denied as Mad Baggins’ heir.

About a week into the cold snap, Peony was standing in the kitchen making biscuits for breakfast when a strange expression crossed her face and her flour-covered hand drifted to her massive belly. Before long it passed and she returned to making biscuits, shaking her head at the strange things babes did. She was only mildly concerned when it happened again, the same strange tightening as if the baby was stretching despite the lack of space. She let out a small hum as it passed as well and placed the biscuits in the oven, not wanting to alarm anyone unduly over a stretching babe.

Dís, however, noticed. She took a mental note of the time from the clock on the mantle and vowed to keep a close eye on the lass. She would wait until she knew for certain before alerting her brother and his hobbit to the lass’ situation. She knew from personal experience how men were about these things and it wasn’t as if they could do anything to help especially if her suspicions were true.

**ooOO88OOoo**

By lunch, it was apparent to everyone that something was going on. Dís alone seemed unperturbed by it. Peony, especially seemed distressed. What she had taken as an odd twinge was proving to be a recurring thing. Panic was beginning to set in as she looked from one male face to the next, knowing that none of them could either confirm or deny her suspicions. It wasn’t as if they were trained midwives or old mothers. And she doubted Dís could help either. She didn’t even know if dwarves _had_ children the same was a hobbits.

Seeing the fear in her eyes, Dís pulled the lass aside and handed her a cup of tea. Peony took a sip of it before setting the cup down with a disgusted look on her face. It had been beyond bitter. Sheoffered the dwarf dam a small smile, attempting to mask how terrible it was. After all, Dís had only been trying to help.

“Drink it, lass,” Dís said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “It tastes awful but it will speed what is to come.”

“What?” Peony breathed, not liking the knowing look on the dwarf dam’s face. “How will that help?”

“The herbs strengthen what your body’s already started,” Dís replied. “Nothing can stop it so we may as well help it. It’s time, lass. I’ve just set Frodo for your cousin. If she doesn’t arrive before the babe who do you . . .” Dís trailed off. The usual questions weren’t needed here. Not only was the lass not a dwarf, and thereby more likely to survive, Dís wasn’t sure if Thorin and Bilbo were going to allow her to name the babe or if they would do it themselves. And whether the lass survived or not, they knew to whom the babe was going.

“What do you mean, it’s time?” Peony asked, her stomach sinking at what she _knew_ Dís was saying. If she was honest, she’d known since the first twinge that morning. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it.

“It’s time,” the dwarf said, her voice holding an odd finality that set Peony’s already queasy stomach to rolling.

**ooOO88OOoo**

It turns out “time” was a relative thing. Even with Dís’ tea, nothing more was happening when Lobelia arrived with a pale Frodo a time later. While Dís understood that Thorin would want to make himself scarce for the comfort of Peony’s cousin, Dís had thought that he looked a bit too eager as he bustled Bilbo out the door to go to the Green Dragon shortly after her announcement that the hobbit woman was coming.

“Thorin, I’m not going out in the cold for a pint!” Bilbo had protested as Thorin had nearly forced him into his coat and pushed him out the door. “Especially not just because my cousin is coming over. She’s run me out of my home for the last time.”

“Trust me,” Thorin had muttered, hoping his sister wouldn’t hear. “You don’t want to be here tonight. I’ll buy the room.” Bilbo had looked from the miserable face of Peony to Dís’ knowing smirk and even his curly hair seemed to deflate as he realized what was happening. Not only did he offered no further protest, he busted out the door so quickly he forgot his pipe and walking stick.

As she had watched them flee, she laughed softly at the paradox that were males. A fire-breathing dragon and they would march across the world to face it. The birth of a child and they flee. The valar had chosen wisely when they elected to have women bear children.

“Your uncle’s gone to the pub,” Dís told Frodo, the statement both a dismissal and an invitation. “The Green Dragon I think they said. You might take him his pipe when you join him.”

“I’ll stay,” Frodo said, still looking a bit faint, his voice thinner than it should have been.

“There’s nothing you can do to help,” Lobelia said. “You’ll just be under our feet. This is women’s work. Go on.”

“I’ll stay,” Frodo said, his voice stronger. “Someone has to be able to run for things while you do . . . whatever it is you do.”

“Go on, lad,” Lobelia scoffed. “We know where everything is kept. This is one thing that we don’t need you for.” Dís was about to speak for the lad, tell Lobelia that among the dwarves many a male had attended a birthing room when females were unavailable but she was stopped by Peony.

“He can stay,” she said. “Dís doesn’t know where we keep everything yet. He’ll be useful.”

“He can’t,” Lobelia countered. “It’s not proper.”

“Cousin,” Peony snapped, her face contorting as another wave hit. “We’ve long since thrown what was proper out. It’s not _proper_ to have a child out of wedlock or to give it to _two_ males. But that’s what I’m doing. Nor is it _proper_ to . . . Hang proper. I say he can stay if he will so stay he shall.”

Lobelia pressed her lips into a thin line but said nothing else against Peony’s plan. Instead she turned to Frodo and said, “You heard the lass. Be useful. And no fainting. We can’t be caring for the both of you.”

Frodo nodded and set to brewing more of Dís’ tea, as instructed. However in the back of his mind was the question of just why his cousin thought he would faint. It was just the birth of a babe.

**ooOO88OOoo**

He soon understood. Things rapidly became less than fine in the house. A few more cups of tea had Peony, who was walking through the den with Dís and Lobelia on either side, laying her head against Dís’ shoulder sobbing.

“I can’t do this,” she kept muttering.”I can’t.”

“Should have thought about that a long time ago,” Lobelia snapped. “Now save your air. You’ll need it.”

“Let her talk,” Dís snarled. “If it makes her feel better, let her do as she will. It won’t matter. Things will be fine or they will not.”

“What do you know of it?” Lobelia demanded. “I’ve delivered one of my own and many more besides.”

“I bore two sons,” Dís said, standing to her full height and glaring at Lobelia over Peony’s head in a way that reminded the hobbit woman, quite disconcertingly, of her brother. “I have delivered more babes over my years than I can even remember. Some tragically but many successfully. And dwarf pregnancies have many more complications that do hobbits’. No dwarf enters the birthing room without a will and a name for the child in writing. I am more than capable of delivering this child. Without you if need be for her comfort.”

“It’s fine, Dís,” Peony said tiredly leaning against the dwarf. “She can stay.”

“If you change your mind,” Dís promised, stroking the hair back from the hobbit lass’ brow.

Through this entire exchange, and many like it before, Frodo had hung back, silent waiting for a command to follow. He was rapidly wishing that he would have taken the escape when it had been offered rather than insisting on staying. He wasn’t sure why he had wanted to be here. Lobelia had been right. There was nothing that he could do to help.  Then, the command came.

“I need a basin,” Dís snapped over her shoulder. “Now.” Frodo nodded and brought the basin she had requested he dig out and placed it on the floor by them. “Towels,” she instructed. He left to get them as well, shocked to see the dwarf dam looking up Peony’s dress when he came back.

“Last chance, lad,” Dís said, positioning Peony over the bowl and placing the towels around it. “Leave or be here for the birth.”

“So . . someone should tell my uncle,” he muttered, heading for the door.

“Go get them then,” Dís said, pulling over a foot stool for Peony to lean against, stroking the hobbit’s hair. “You can do this, lass. It’s almost over.” Peony just sobbed, pressing her forehead into the fabric as another wave passed over her.

“Almost there,” Dís muttered. Lobelia stood off to the side, attending in silence ever since Dís’ outburst, seething a bit that the foreigner had taken over her cousin’s birth. Even so, she couldn’t deny that the dwarf knew what she was doing.

"That's it, lass,"Dís said. "Just one more push." As the infant passed from its mother to Dís, the dwarf woman could not stop the wave of sorrow that washed over her. The babe in her hands, though crying lustily was such a wee thing. So short and thin. It couldn't be meant long for this world. Holding it in one hand, she assisted Peony to lean back and she silently laid the babe on her mother's chest, knowing that no words, no matter how sincere could help the pain that would come when she passed. Her heart broke for the young mother, and for her brother and Bilbo, already so dedicated to that little life. It always hurt to lose a child but to lose a girl.

"She's perfect," Lobelia whispered. "You did well, Peony." Dís could barely contain her sob at the words, knowing how such praise would only make it ache more when the inevitable came. As she lay down fresh towels to collect the afterbirth, she prayed to Mahal that it was a slow process, knowing from past experiences that every pulse of life from the mother would sustain the doomed child just that little bit longer.

"I'll go get her a dress," Lobelia chipped. "You two get her cleaned up. And for pity’s sake, cut that cord!" Dís felt as though lobelia had doused her with snow. How could someone be so callous?! And a mother herself no less! There would be time to bathe and dress the child after she was gone. She was about to step out and give that overbearing she-hobbit a piece of her mind when Peony spoke.

"Will you please pass me that rag?" she asked, her voice weary.

"It can wait," Dís replied, keeping her tone gentle. "Just . . . love your babe. Hold her while you can."

"They're easier to clean wet," she replied. Dís didn't have the heart to argue and passed the lass the damp towel. The way the child squalled as the cloth was passed over her skin broke her heart anew. Such a little fighter. It was only when Lobelia returned with a dress as tiny as the babe and tisked before tying and cutting the no longer pulsing cord that Dís realized her mistake.

The child was tiny, but so was the mother. While impossibly small for a dwarf babe, it truly was a perfect hobbit. This was truly the start of a new life rather that a tragedy. With that realization, she turned her attention to the care of the newborn and mother.

“What will you name her?” Lobelia asked, setting out a bit of cloth for a diaper.

“I won’t,” Peony said stroking the squealing babe. “They will.”

“If you ask,” Dís began only for Peony to cut her off.

“No,” she said shaking her head. “She’s their babe. They should name her. I should feed her.” Dís nodded and took the bowl from the floor wondering if hobbits had any traditions for it like dwarves did. Just in case she set it aside for Peony and Lobelia to do as they would and set to cleaning the remainder of their mess.

**ooOO88OOoo**

When Bilbo, Frodo and Thorin arrived sometime later, there was no sign in the den of what had taken place. Dís was in the kitchen cooking something, Peony was resting in the window seat staring out at the snow and Lobelia was nowhere to be found. The only difference was the small basket on the table where previously none had been.

“Don’t wake her,” Dís said without turning around. “The lass is tired.”

“A rest well earned,” Thorin replied.

“Your daughter is on the table,” Dís said, her tone giving no indication of her opinion on the matter, something Thorin knew from long practice meant that she disapproved.

“It wasn’t my idea, Dís,” Thorin said softly, going to her side. “The hobbits, they’re not dwarves. They don’t place the same value on the mother’s rights that we do. It . . . it was implied that the babe would be . . . gotten rid of, regardless of whether we took it or no. This is better that that, no?”

“She wept, Thorin,” Dís muttered, her own eyes filling with tears. “When she was holding it. She just keep whispering that she didn’t know what to call it because the babe wasn’t hers and weeping. You can’t tell me that’s better.”

“Than death?” Thorin countered. “She will be part of this child’s life, Dís. I won’t have it any other way. I’ve already told Bilbo—”

“Let her name it,” Dís said, her words not a request. “It is bad enough that they won’t let her keep it but give her that right. Let her name her child.”

“Then I have to wake her,” Thorin replied. “We need a name to present it.” Dís nodded and Thorin went to the basket, lifting the blanket and revealing the tiny child. With his pinky he inspected her fingers. Tiny, perfect fingers. He carefully lifted the child, lighter than a baked pie, and moved to Peony’s side.

“She’s beautiful,” he said by way of greeting, stroking the downy brown curls on the babe with one finger as he held her in his other hand.

“She is,” Peony agreed, opening her eyes tiredly.

“What’s her name?” he asked, his tone the gentlest that Peony had ever heard from him. “What shall we call her?” he asked again when it was clear that Peony wasn’t going to answer.

“I’ve always liked Poppy,” Peony said softly.

“Then Poppy it is,” Thorin said with a smile.


	47. Adjustments

Within days of her birth, everyone in Bag End realized that having a child and caring for a child were two drastically different things. For Dís, this wasn't news. She had already raised two children and remembered just how much work they could be. Thorin, as well, was not unacquainted with children and their raising. However, he had never been primarily responsible for their care, nor been involved at quite so young adv age. And that was precisely what Dís insisted upon this time.

The first night she had insisted that the baby stay in their room, placing the crib at the foot of their bed herself.

"You wanted this babe, Thorin," she said sternly when he attempted to protest, attempting to explain that, as Peony nursed the babe, the babe should sleep with her. Dís was having none of it. “You can wake with her same as her mother.”

When Poppy woke squalling that night, Bilbo smacked his mate awake.

"You take her to Peony," the hobbit grumbled, rolling back over and putting his pillow over his head to muffle the sound. "It was your idea to do it and your sister's idea that she sleep here." Thorin sighed, getting to his feet and putting on his dressing coat and picking up the babe, patting her gently and shushing her to no avail. He carried her down the hall to Peony's room, woke the sleeping hobbit, turned his back and allowed the baby to nurse and then took the baby back and laid her in the crib. It felt as if he'd only just laid down when the baby started crying once more.

He only did that once more before Peony refused to give the baby back.

"Sleep," she muttered. "You look like death. I'll keep her." Thorin shook his head but before he could speak she continued, "Tell Dís I wanted to cuddle her. She won’t argue against that." Thorin nodded, unable to deny that he needed the sleep, or that Peony had found Dís’ one weak point.

"The baby?" Bilbo muttered, curling against his side as he lay down once more.

"With Peony," he replied, leaning his cheek against Bilbo's curls and stroking his shoulder. The hobbit hummed in pleasure before drifting to sleep once more.

ooOO88OOoo

Dís said nothing about it the next morning when Poppy came out in her mother's arms. The others wondered if she knew where the babe had slept, but she did. In hindsight, removing the babe from her mother at night was a poor decision. It wasn't like Thorin could latch her on. She’d just wanted to punish her brother and force him to see that children weren’t all cuddles and coos. She’d failed to take into account that the babe and Peony would sleep better if neither had to fully wake to nurse.

Even as she backed away from insisting on the babe sleep with her brother, she continued to insist that Thorin, and to a lesser extent, Bilbo, take a direct hand in the care of the child. Even poor Frodo was not exempt, being drafted into carting water for the wash as “Peony’s done more than enough work for the time being.”

 

The next time they came to a head was when Thorin attempted to hand a soiled Poppy, who he had been rocking, back to Peony to change after the young hobbit offered.

 "You will do no such thing!” Dís called from the kitchen, turning from the food she was preparing and coming into the room with the chopping knife still in her hand.

“She's not a nephew this time, Thorin. She's your daughter. You can change her," she continued, gesturing at him with the knife for emphasis as she spoke.

Thorin was not intimidated by his sister’s gesture. His face was a mask of indifference as he stared at the knife tip. It was only once he looked down at the tiny child squawling in his arms that the first hint of trepidation crept in. She looked so small in his large, coarse hands. So small. So tender. So fragile.

"I can't," he said attempting to pass the babe off once more. Peony was about to take her when Dís swooped in, passing the knife to the hobbit lass before taking Poppy in one arm and dragging Thorin out of his chair with the other. She didn’t say a word until she had bundled them both into the room where they had arranged the child’s things. Gently, despite her apparent agitation, she laid the babe on the table.

"Mahal's beard, Thorin," she muttered as she unfastened the diaper, "it's only poo! I swear! You were willing to face orcs, dragons, and countless other dangers but a baby's diaper steals your courage."

"That's not what it is," he replied, shifting uncomfortably. Dís was unconvinced, not even attempting to cover her disbelief and snorting as she handed the clean babe back to her brother.

"It's not!" he repeated, his tone indignant before he shook his head, softening once more as he admitted his fears to his sister.

"It’s just that she's just so little. Her head's not even as big as my hand! And hobbits are so fragile. I’ve hurt Bilbo before, accidentally and intentionally. I-I don't want to . . ." he trailed off unable to finish the thought.

"You won't hurt her," Dís said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "They're more durable than we think. Hobbits and babes. You'll get used to her." Thorin shook his head, he didn’t think that she was right but didn’t have the heart to argue with her now.

ooOO88OOoo

Babe or no, eventually things had to go back to some semblance of how they were before. Thorin had spent a few weeks at home acclimating to their new addition but there were still many things to plan before spring came. The forge was still open despite the weather, as were the official’s offices to finish off plans for the dwarves’ arrival.

 

“Where do you think you're going?” Dís demanded as Thorin lifted his coat from the peg by the door.

“To work Dís,” he snapped. “Some of us cannot remain idle in the house all winter. Am I allowed to go alone, or do I have to take the babe with me to the forge?”

"Of course not, "she scoffed."The forge is no place for a babe. Especially a hobbitling. Bilbo can watch her."

"I. .. But... He. . . "Bilbo stuttered trying and failing to come up with a reason he couldn't watch the babe in Thorin’s absence. There were reasons on his tongue but at the challenging look on Dís’ face, so much like her sons’ and brother’s that it was more than disconcerting, they died there. All his clever words and quips were for naught in the face of her stubbornness.

"It was his idea,” he finally said when he could come up with nothing better that would still be true.

“And you agreed to it,” she reminded him. "Your name is on the paper claiming Poppy and it's your surname she bears." Bilbo nearly replied that Peony’s name was on the birth certificate as well, but managed to refrain himself when he realized that Dís would not take kindly to such a statement, especially when she had made it patently clear that she felt that Peony’s name alone should have been on the document when poor Paladin had come to draft it.

“Oh! I suppose I'll watch her,” he grumbled before walking out of the room. “You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered to Thorin on his way past.

“Something I remember daily,” Thorin promised, shrugging into his coat. “I’ll see you when I return,” he said. Bilbo grunted noncommittally and gestured dismissively before shutting the door to his study with a snap.

 

 “We’ll come get you when she wakes,” Dís called. Thorin merely smiled and amusement at seeing his mate routed by his sister before pressing his forehead to hers and heading out the door.

 As Dís turned her attention back to the dishes from breakfast, Peony stepped up to her cautiously. While she wanted to make her position on the matter clear, she still wasn’t entirely sure where she stood with Dís and knew that the dwarf dam’s continued good will was key to her remaining in Bag End past the babe’s weaning, no matter what they said now.

 “You . . . you know I don't mind watching her,” she muttered. “I-I actually kind of enjoy it and I know you don't like how we did this, but . . . but there really wasn't another way. And at least with them taking her I get to see her sometimes. At least for a while. If we given her to anyone else, well...” she trailed off. Dís didn’t need her to finish. She knew very well what would have happened had any but a dwarf been involved in the adoption.

“ I know, lass,” Dís sighed. “Even though I know it's true, it doesn't mean I have to like it. Among my people, you would have had irrevocable rights to your child. Married or not. She would have been yours until your death. It . . . it was hard enough losing my own lads, even though they were nearly grown. To bear a live babe only to have it taken from you and given to another ... I-I can't imagine it.”

“But she wasn't taken,” Peony said. ”There was no way I could keep her. You and I both know that’s not the way things are here. I know it's not how you do things, but we're not dwarves we're Hobbits. And it's not perfect but I still get to hold her and love her and this is how it has to be. You shouldn't be so hard on them; most adoptive parents aren't as kind to the birth mother. Anyone else and I wouldn’t even have gotten to know she was a she, let alone hold her.”

 Dís sighed deeply but said nothing else. While she understood where Peony was coming from, it wasn't something she would ever be able to condone. Not when the ache in her heart from the loss of her sons had yet to ever subside. She couldn't understand how an entire culture could place so little value on the bond between mother and child. And, to be honest, she hoped she never did. But she could also see how much her obvious dislike of the situation was troubling Peony.

 The two with the two women sat in silence for a while washing and drying the dishes while Peony worried she had said too much and Dís stewed. After more time than was comfortable had elapsed, Dís finally spoke again.

 “I suppose you're right,” she said looking at the younger woman. “There's nothing we can do about the situation and continuing to degrade my brother's decision will accomplish nothing. I'm only glad they chose to let you stay. But don't let them treat you as a maid, I know you love your baby and want to care for her but if they want to make her the decisions as her parents they need to be involved. That means Bilbo, too. Don’t let him bully you into doing all the work because he’s ‘too old’.”

 Peony only laughed at the idea of the grouchy old “Mad Baggins” bouncing a babe on his knee. She wondered if it was something she would ever actually get to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the wait on this. Life got in the way in the form of going back to school for my NP. School is still ongoing but I'm in the swing of it now. Also, this chapter was like pulling teeth. Hopefully, it didn't read like that. 
> 
> If any of you are still around I would love to hear what you thought. Good, bad, or indifferent.  
> Stickdonkeys


End file.
